


Stranded in a Strange World

by diaphanous87



Series: D'arshan Tia: Eorzea and Beyond [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Allergies, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Be Careful What You Wish For, Blood and Violence, Cliffhangers, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn, Friendship/Love, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, M/M, Modern Character in Eorzea, Multi, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Near Death Experiences, No beta we die like mne, Other, Pining, Platonic Cuddling, Serious Injuries, Shenanigans, Thieves' Cant, Time Skips, Violence, a little bit of horror has been tossed into the mix, always bi D'arshan, can I say violence again?, cat ears weren't part of the plan, mentions of PTSD episodes, not always in chronological order, only between adults, or he'll die choking, rage episodes, silliness and seriousness, the interludes are random, there are some things D'arshan cannot eat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2020-10-10 16:57:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20531423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diaphanous87/pseuds/diaphanous87
Summary: Arshan knew he shouldn't have made that dumb wish on that dumb shooting star. He used to be old enough to know better...000Stranded and changed beyond recognition, D'arshan had never meant for anything like this to happen. One moment he was a man living the same routine every day. But on a whim he wished upon a shooting star. The next thing he knew, he was in a desert and a good four feet shorter. With cat ears and a stubby kitten tail. Not the ideal to be sure. But thankfully someone kind found him, took him under her wing, and made sure he learned everything he needed to know to survive and then some.So here he went, embarking on a new journey, grown and as ready as he could ever be. From Limsa Lominsa and beyond, he would explore this world, see new things, meet new people. And he would do great things beyond just being a simple adventurer.Not that he knew that part.





	1. Song of Myself

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I am incapable of not making Final Fantasy XIV characters and writing stupid fanfic for them. But this time my WoL is definitely not a native born on Hydaelyn. Haha, be warned, as usual I have no idea what I'm doing.
> 
> 000

* * *

“This is not what I meant, this is not what I meant…” Huddled under a thorny bush, a strange Miqo’te child rocked back and forth, gaze darting around in horrified fear. If anyone had been around to look at the clearly distressed boy, they would have noted his strange garments and wild eyes. He was small with pale blue hair and bright green eyes. The slit pupils marked him as a Seeker of the Sun, not unusual for the Miqo’te that usually called Thanalan home.

But Thanalan was not home for him. This place was so far from home that it wasn’t even funny. In fact the boy knew for a fact that he wasn’t even supposed to be in a desert at all. He was from a place of forested parks and distant skyscrapers, dammit! Nor was he used to having cat ears and a stubby little tail. And why was he so small?! He was approaching meltdown mode at warp speed.

“Nononononono!” He began to sob, little hands clamped over his furred ears. He buried his face in his knees, soaking the cotton of his cargo pants. And then a loud hiss sounded above his head. The Miqo’te who wasn’t supposed to be a Miqo’te sniffled. He looked up. “Fuck.”

An abnormally large lizard, more like a strange snake with legs of all things than an iguana, hovered over him hungrily. Its mouth gaped open, saliva dripping from its fangs. It lunged and he screamed. Scrambling through the thorny bushes, he barely evaded the predator. He used his small size to his advantage as he fought through the thorns. What was the pricking of thorns compared to being eaten? But the reptile from hell was persistent and charged after him.

The boy tripped and rolled down a small slop, wheezing as he landed on rough cobblestone. “A road…” Loud hissing and claws on sand and stone ripped him from his confusion. He lurched to his feet and ran, the lizard hot on his heels. Every time he felt the predator’s hot breath, he zigged or zagged out of the way of those snapping jaws. Right now he was not thinking, relying on instinct alone, something feral in his rewired mind pushing him onward.

_Left!_

Skidding on his sneakered feet, the boy veered sharply to the left. Gasping in relief as people in armor (armor, what the fuck?!) charged past him with swords bared to meet the threat behind him. The ringing of steel and the shouts of the fighters, one was really freaking short what even, echoed in his ears as he stumbled through the archway that led into a town. People were milling around and a giant fuck-off crystal thing was smack dab in the middle of the square. The boy vaguely took note of it before he scrambled into a back alley of some kind and shoved himself into a tiny hollow space to hide.

Curled up, the boy hugged himself. The gesture was strangely comforting. Exhausted from fear, he curled up tighter in his little nook, his ears flat against his skull. The scratches from the thorns slowly stopped bleeding as his breathing calmed. He buried his tearstained face in his arms and fell into a restless but bone-tired doze.

But he didn’t get to rest for very long.

With a flick of his ears, the boy startled awake when he heard a set of light footsteps stop at his hidey hole. He cringed back as someone knelt down to peek into his little space. A woman with ears exactly like his own but in a shade of red was looking at him, a curious expression on her face. He started to tremble.

“I thought I saw a kit fairly fly through the gate. The guards spoke of a peiste on the poor thing’s heels,” she said softly. She sighed but came no closer. It was as if she knew exactly how he would react to such an invasion of space. “My name is D’ayaza Mashiyn, a Seeker like you.” She smiled, her teeth carefully hidden behind her lips. “What’s your name?”

The boy who wasn’t supposed to be a child squinted at her suspiciously. “Arshan,” he replied after a few moments, his instincts quiet save for the urge to be watchful. And he was cautious enough to not give away more than he had to in this place so far from home. His ears, so mobile compared to what he once had, were pointed forward, giving away how closely he was listening to her. Listening for a lie or the wrong tone of voice.

The woman, D’ayaza, looked surprised. “You are of the A clan?” she asked.

He blinked. “The what?” He resisted the urge to bare his teeth at her when she scooted closer. The baby growl that rumbled in his chest however stopped her approach and she held her hands up in surrender at the warning. “What clan?” he spat from behind gritted teeth, his narrow pupils contracting to a thin line.

“A clanless Seeker child… oh dear who would abandon such a young Tia here… Where are you from?”

His nostrils flared at the question. His short little tail did its best to flick as a sign of agitation. “The suburbs,” he said. He scoffed when she looked confused at the word. “Nowhere near here, lady. What do you want from me?”

“We Miqo’te have to stick together. The world has many strange notions about our kind,” she said slowly, “And I cannot abide a kit alone.” She frowned. “And though you are dressed strangely, you are but a child alone and Ul’dah is not kind of orphans. Especially Miqo’te orphans.” Her own ears flicked with unease. “That is how I lost my sister.”

The boy could guess exactly how unkind the place she called Ul’dah could be. The woman was ungodly beautiful and many terrible things were done to beautiful women, especially back home. And he was sure these cat ears and tails hit plenty of kinks. Also he was guessing that he was pretty enough to be concerned about the same thing. It seemed sickos were universal, which was awful yet unsurprising. 

“And what would you do with me?” Arshan demanded, currently uncaring of how rude he sounded. But she seemed unoffended. In fact she looked pleased with his caution.

“Well, I’m far from home as well. A huntress exiled from her clan.” Her mouth did a funny thing, as if she were trying to smile and frown at the same time. “The new nuhn was not pleased that I would lay with someone other than he.” She flicked an ear and tossed her head, her long ponytail swaying and a few strands of silvery hair glittering in the sun. “So I left.” She eyed him. “I could do with a hunting partner.”

“Lady, in case you didn’t notice, I’m kinda small,” he said in his best deadpan. He had a feeling that he was never to get home or change back into what he once was. And the fact is, he knew he was going to end up following this woman. What choice did he have? A genuinely kind stranger holding out their hand to him was probably the rarest thing he would encounter in this world where giant snakes with legs tried to eat little cat boys and short beardless dwarf guys wielded swords.

“That just means you’ll learn easier than an adult,” she said without missing a beat. She held out her hand. “It’s getting dark, little kit, and I do not think you mean to sleep here when the scorpions come out in the moonlight.”

Arshan stared at her hand for a moment. Even in the light of the setting sun he could see the callouses decorating her palm and fingers and the sharpness of her short nails. He then looked up at her face, beautiful and honest. He made a soft noise of resignation and placed his too little hand into hers. He let her pull him out of his hiding spot and endured her fussing as she brushed off the sand and dirt.

“I see the prickly bushes had their way with you,” she quipped with a laugh.

“Better than being eaten,” Arshan grumbled. With that, she led him back out of the alley, his hand gently but firmly held in hers. He hadn’t held someone’s hand like this since he was a child clinging to his mother’s hands in the grocery store. It was strange. All of this was strange. Once upon a time not so long ago he had been an adult, one longing for adventure instead of the same mundane office routine day in and out.

This had not been the adventure he had been looking for… But at least he had found a teacher, hopefully.

* * *

And there in the deserts of Thanalan, wandering and learning with D’ayaza, Arshan experienced childhood all over again. Though his education from Before had never consisted of weapons and tracking and whatnot. However he also insisted on learning how to read and write, much to his adopted mother’s bemusement. It had been humiliating that Arshan was incapable of reading even a simple hunt posting. Supposedly six-years-old and unable to read? That would not do in his mind, hence his insistence. Thankfully she indulged him, which also had the nice side effect of improving her own reading skills.

When Arshan learned that magic was possible, he dove straight into every book pile he could find when in Ul’dah with glee. The Thaumaturge Guild was an excellent source for beginner magic books and they were just as indulgent as Ayaza. In fact the guildmaster would speak of perhaps letting him join the guild when he was older. He had an affinity with magic rarely seen in their halls. But Ayaza hadn’t like the glint in Mumuepo’s eye and so was noncommittal about the offer, citing Arshan’s age. Personally he was in agreement that something was up with the guildmaster.

Time passed, as it was wont to do. The months were a blur of lessons on hunting and magic and whatever else caught his interest. But change, good or ill, was inevitable…

* * *

Eight years later Eorzea was changed forever in the aftermath of Bahamut’s awakening.

* * *

The sun was just beginning to rise in the east, bringing light upon the hunt taking place.

On silent feet, a lone Miqo’te Tia tread along the top of small cliff overlooking the western road to Blackbrush. A bow was in his hand with a quiver strapped to his back. As he walked, his long tail swayed behind him. Ahead and below him was a hammerbeak flock feasting on a carcass. Pausing, he squatted down and held his free hand over his brow to shade his eyes. He was downwind and in the shadows of a gnarled desert tree. Finally the carcass of the lost toad was stripped clean. The flock dispersed and one of their number lumbered closer to the cliff.

Switching from a squat to kneeling on one knee, the Tia nocked an arrow and drew the bowstring back. The fletching brushed against his cheek as he took aim. The hammerbeak lifted its head and in that exact moment the Miqo’te let his arrow fly. The animal dropped, the arrows barely sticking out of its eye from how deeply it went in. Swiftly he slid down the cliff, bounding the short distance to the dead animal’s side.

He would have to be quick before the downed creature’s fellows came around to eat their fallen flock member. Not that he was going to take the meat, poisonous as it was. No, he was here to grab the feathers to make more fletching and the hide to process into leather for market. He worked quickly, the calls of the hammerbeaks getting louder as they approached. Lured in by the scent of death and blood, the scavengers had no problem cannibalizing another of their kind. Such was the way of life in a harsh desert. The Miqo’te finished gathering what he wanted and fled as the flock appeared. He dodged a few beaks aimed his way. Flashing his short fangs at the flightless birds, he made his way to the where his adopted mother had set up camp.

“Arshan, another hide?” Ayaza called out as he strolled into their campsite. She was wearing long gloves and goggles as she stirred the kettle of braintanning solution. Gods, it stank to high heaven but it was something to be endured for the best quality. She smiled at him and nodded toward the other station she had set up for hide prep. “You know what to do, kit.”

“Yes, Ma, I know.” Arshan set to his work, messy as it was.

For a while now, Ayaza had been making noise about moving to the Shroud, that she was getting too old for hunting. Surely the Leatherworkers’ Guild could use members after the losses of Carteneau. He wasn’t quite sure since usually the darkness beneath the boughs of the trees were more suited to the Keepers of the Moon that lived there. They had no problems seeing in the dark, unlike himself and his Ma. But then again, the streaks of white in her hair outnumbered the red now after thirteen years raising him. Gods, going through puberty again had been the worst.

Arshan knew he had not been an easy child to care for, too fiercely independent and too clever. Ma called him an old soul. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her how close to the truth she had gotten with that statement. He had been thirty-three years old before appearing upon Eorzea, a child again with feline features that were too alien to fully comprehend for those first few months of stumbling after Ayaza, taking on the letter D to his name and learning everything she was willing to teach and then some. This world had magic for pity’s sake! It had blown his mind. Back in the place of his birth, magic was just clever slights of hand or something that only belonged in fairy tales and fantasy novels. And Ayaza let him pursue it between hunting lessons. Probably to keep him occupied, he didn’t remember being this energetic in his previous life.

“You okay, kit?”

Startled, Arshan jerked his head up at the sudden sound of his adopted mother’s voice. “Ah, just thinking… sorry.” He belatedly realized that his hands had stopped moving, feathers clutched between his fingers. His ears folded back, a flush on his tanned face that made the white freckles stark across his cheeks and nose. When did his thoughts meander away from prepping the animal hide…?

“Looks like heavy thoughts for mid-morning. You wanna share?” She looked up at him, fine eyebrows raised high. Her ears swiveled forward, the tip of her tail curled.

“When did you get so short?” he blurted out. He blushed harder when she started laughing at him.

“You’re just now noticing? Boy, you became taller than me a few years ago. You silly thing, always with your head in the clouds. Too much reading of convoluted things at the Thaumaturge Guild, I think. But that’s not what you were thinking about, eh?”

“I… no, Ma. That’s not what I was thinking about.” Arshan pursed his lips, his tail curling and uncurling in agitation. “I was thinking… about the Shroud.”

“You don’t wanna go, right?” The curve of her smile had a hint of sadness to it. “I figured that as soon as I suggested it.” Ayaza sighed. “How about we talk about it after we finish our day, okay?”

“Okay.” But before she turned away to go back to her kettle, Arshan called out to her. “Ma!” The woman paused and looked over her shoulder at him. “Ma, thank you.”

“Oh my boy, no need to thank me. You are, after all, my favorite child.”

“I’m your only child.” He huffed when she laughed at him.

* * *

Arshan carefully folded the last of the prepared leather for tomorrow’s trek to the market at Horizon. Their lone chocobo, Duckie, let out a sleepy chirp from where she was waiting for her evening meal of greens. He stood up to get her food, scooping out her dinner into her bowl. The avian cooed at him before digging in. Silently he and Ayaza loaded the rest of their things into their little cart. The routine this time around felt sad and solemn. It made him nervous. 

As they sat by their cooking fire, the older Miqo’te stirred the mole and popoto stew that would be their dinner. “My son…” Ayaza nibbled on her lower lip. “I have a gift for you.”

“A gift…” Arshan watched as she dug around in a satchel by her hip. He blinked in surprise when she pulled out a book. She carefully handed it to him. “What’s this?”

“A Grimoire, a bit old and a bit worn but still in good condition for a beginner.” Ayaza stroked the cover before pulling back. “Happy Name Day, D’arshan Tia.” The corners of her mouth trembled as she smiled. “It’s been thirteen years since I found you, scratched up and scared and so very small. I never meant to keep you with me for so long. I figured once you learned how to hunt and survive, you’d be fine without me.”

“Ma…”

She shook her head at him. “But we stuck together, didn’t we? In all my life, I had birthed only one child, sired by my previous nuhn. She hadn’t made it past her fifth name day, too sick. Oh how we grieved for she had been the only child born in that year. D’yushav hadn’t minded that I refused to bear another child. But he was ousted and I left. Mayhap it was fate that I took you in. I do not regret adopting you, Arshan. I grew to love you and I like to believe that you grew to love me.”

“Of course I love you!” Arshan buried his face against her shoulder. “I love you, Ma.” How could he not?

Ayaza cupped the back of his neck, pressing her cheek against the crown of his head. His short blue hair was soft, the red tips bright in the firelight. Nearly the exact same coloring as her lost babe. Along his right temple still were the three rows of braids she had woven tight against his skin. Though she hadn’t had to braid them for him for a long time, her boy with his clever hands and smart mouth. She adored this strange old soul. It didn’t matter that he was not of her blood. He was of her heart.

“Such a willful child, you were. So hungry for knowledge of any kind. Even now, you bury yourself in books when we visit Ul’dah. All the librarians know you by name. But you were meant for more than this.” She pulled back and tilted his face up. “Arshan, listen to me. I believe the path of the Thaumaturge is not for you. There is a darkness on that path that would not suit you. That is why I gave you this grimoire. Think you that I did not notice your questions about arcanima?”

“Errr… they’re just questions.” Arshan’s ears flicked, giving away the lie for what it was. She just looked at him with the same motherly expression of bemused doubt. “Okay, yeah, I thought using a grimoire would be better but I didn’t want to hurt the Coco brothers’ feelings!”

“Considerate as always.” Ayaza kissed his forehead. “The Arcanist’s Guild is in Limsa.”

“And you mean to go to Gridania as a leatherworker,” Arshan whispered. “Is this why we’re going to Horizon for their market instead of Ul’dah? To see me off on the boat at Vesper Bay?”

“Yes, no more holding back. It is time, my son, to let go. There’s a whole world for you to see. You’ve been so restless lately. You are a Tia grown, nineteen summers by my guess. And you’ve been talking with the adventurers in the Quicksand, I know. I know that curious gleam in your eyes. I know you want to see more of this world and its offerings. And I know you are wise enough to avoid the temptations offered by the world as well.” She stroked shaking fingers along the bridge of his nose, tracing the white freckles on his face.

“I’m not ready.”

“You are ready, Arshan. You are strong and clever and brave. I’m so proud of you. And tomorrow will be filled with many possibilities. And we will not lose all contact. Why, once I am settled in Gridania I will write you so many letters. The moogles are excellent for carrying mail, aye? I’ll address them to you at the guild. All will be well.” Ayaza let out a watery laugh. “You’ll be the best arcanist the guild will ever see and a finer adventurer besides.”

“Make sure to take all of the best of your work as samples to present to the guildmaster in Gridania,” Arshan said, straightening up with a no nonsense look on his face. “You produce the best high-quality leather in all of Thanalan; you’ll be the perfect fit for their guild, I just know it! Fen-Yll will be the luckiest to have you among their number.” He inhaled a shuddery breath, fighting the unexpected tears. “And we’ll write to one another always, no matter what.” Lunging forward, he wrapped his arms around his mother, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. “I’ll miss you, mama.” This woman had been the best mother he had ever had, he had been so lucky. So godsdamn lucky.

Ayaza hugged him back just a fiercely. “I’ll miss you too, my baby.” She took in his scent of desert sand, sweet musk, and leather. Soon the brininess of the sea and the sharp tang of magic will replace the desert warmth to his scent. She laughed again. “Look at us, carrying on like this when we haven’t even gotten to the docks.”

“Mama?”

“Yes, kit?”

“I think dinner is burning.” Arshan yelped as his mother threw him away from her to scramble for the stew. He landed on his back but laughed loud and a touch hysterically. Thankfully the stew wasn’t burnt too badly and they ate and spoke together, not letting the sorrow of their future parting dim their spirits. Duckie the chocobo warked at her two people, shook her feathery head, and sat in her bedding to sleep. She would have a long day tomorrow hauling the full cart. Best to ignore their shenanigans for now.

Dawn would come soon enough.

* * *

After a day at the market in Horizon in Western Thanalan, the two Miqo’te and their chocobo walked onward to the connecting area that led to Vesper Bay. At random intervals were patrols of Brass Blades keeping the monsters in check along the short route. The sun was just beginning to set as they entered seaside town.

Arshan lifted the trunk that held the precious high quality leathers that his mother kept back to be presented at Gridania. It also had her mythril head knife and awl and the other smaller tools. The bigger tools like the tanning kettle would be left with Duckie and the cart in the rented space at the stables.

Following Ayaza to the inn, he looked over the thinning daytime crowds that were being replaced by the night crowds headed for the taverns and pool halls. But he and his mother were left alone, a few people warily eyeing the short sword at his hip. Arshan was more than capable of wielding it, just like his bow and magic. Ayaza was an excellent teacher and have even managed to finagle a few sword lessons for him at the Gladiator’s Guild for a small fee. So even if Arshan couldn’t get into the Archanist’s guild, he was sure he would still do well as an adventurer.

“Set it down at the foot of my bed, Arshan.” Ayaza pointed at the bed on the left of their small inn room. “You’ll load it back up for me in the morning, aye?”

“Of course, Ma.” Rolling his shoulders, he sat on the bed to take off his boots. He paused when he felt her hand stroke the top of his head, ruffling the short strands. “Ma?” He looked up at her.

“You’re a good boy, Arshan. You’ll do so well.” She sighed and sat on her bed, hands clasped together and hanging between her knees. The silver and red of her hair gleamed in the lantern’s weak light. Her tail lay upon the bed, curved in a partial circle by her hip, the tip twitching. “Don’t sleep with your grimoire attached.”

Arshan’s lips twitched up into a faint smile. “I won’t,” he promised.

“And don’t forget to groom your ears and tail properly. I won’t be there to help you brush out any mats.”

“Yes, Ma.”

A mischievous gleam entered Ayaza’s eyes and flashed in her fanged smile. Her ears wiggled and perked up and forward. “And if you decide to have sex with someone, remember to use a cock sheathe.” Ayaza wriggled her eyebrows at his horrified face.

“MAMA!” Arshan’s yowls of embarrassed outrage competed in volume with his mother’s cackling.

* * *

The lalafell merchant in the room next door startled at the noises that echoed through his wall. Grumbling, he rolled over in his bed and shoved his pillow over his head.

Damned rowdy cats.

* * *

_It was time…_

* * *

The calls of the gulls heralded the dawn, their broad white wings bright in the warming sky. Dock workers shouted as they moved cargo back and forth from the ships anchored in the bay. A pair of Miqo’te stood by the ticket booth. The shorter of the duo reached up to pull the other’s head down. They touched forehead to forehead, eyes closed, ears swiveled back, and tails low and still. They breathed together, imprinting the other’s scent into their memories. The other Miqo’te milling about the port town averted their eyes, knowing that the two were saying farewell in the soft quiet way that a mother sending their kit off into the wider world would do. The Tia of the two wrapped his arms tighter around the woman who had obviously raised him, his cheek now pressed against hers.

After one more moment, Arshan stepped out his mother’s embrace. He blinked back his tears. When had he turned into a crybaby? He was too old for it. “Thank you for everything,” he said, though the words seemed too inadequate. But his mother seemed to understand as she smiled with trembling lips.

“Be good, kit. Do well.” She laced her fingers together to stop herself from reaching out to him. A small part of her screamed to take her son over her shoulder to drag him to Gridania, to keep him with her always. But Ayaza knew doing so would only breed resentment in her boy’s heart and she couldn’t bear the thought.

His eyes stared down at her, the pale green irises nearly white in the morning sun. It was like he could see how hard this was for her. The way his face softened, the gentle understanding smile. There was an agedness in his gaze, windows to an old soul who seemed to know more than it aught. Most people would have been frightened by how quickly he had learned, by the way he seemed to see everything that wasn’t supposed to be seen. A knowing so vast it could swallow a lesser person. But her lost babe, little Yulia, had had the same sort of gaze and the same sense of knowing. Ayaza remembered her daughter’s lisping voice predicting her own death, both resigned and unafraid.

“It’s okay, Ma,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to be afraid for me.” The older Miqo’te’s breath hitched as he hit exactly on what she was feeling. Even though this separation was her idea, she couldn’t help the fear and worry. “You’ve done an amazing job teaching me.” Arshan held her hands in his, so slim but sturdy and sure. “But you’re right. It’s time to let go. You’ve got a dream to pursue and I’ve got a whole world to explore.”

A sailor shouted that boarding was starting. A pair of elezen teens hurried onto the boat, followed by a merchant in red and a few lalafell passengers.

Ayaza sighed, taking back her hands. “Sounds like this is goodbye, kit.” She let out a watery laugh when he grabbed her for one last hug. “Go. Go, Arshan. You’re going to be amazing, I just know it.”

“And you’re going to be even more amazing than what you already are,” he declared as he let her go. Arshan squared his shoulders. “How do I look?”

“Like an adventurer, eager to see the world.” In a blink, Ayaza skirted around to shove her son forward. “Off you get!”

“Bye, Mama!” Arshan shouted over his shoulder as the sailor did one last call for boarding. The two straps of his pack dug into his shoulders but he paid it no mind. It bounced on his back as he bounded up the gangplank. At one hip was a sheathed shortsword and at the other hip was his new grimoire. He had left the bow and quiver with his mother. If he needed a bow in the future, he was more than capable of making one.

“Goodbye… my son.”

* * *

Arshan stared at the rapidly disappearing port town of Vesper Bay. The ship beneath his feet moved with the waves but his footing did not falter. The breeze ruffled the short strands of his hair, blowing between his perked ears. Sailors bustled about with their assigned tasks. Gulls followed the ship before veering off high into the blue sky. The scent of briny water filled his nose. Everything was currently a new experience compared to his life in the deserts of Thanalan. Thank the gods he didn’t get seasick, unlike back in the place of his birth where even on a riverboat he used to puke up his guts.

In a week he would be in Limsa Lominsa. But for now, he would take a midmorning nap below deck.

Passing by the nearly identical elezen teens who pointedly ignored him, he exchanged nods with the other passengers. With a swish of his tail, Arshan disappeared to the hold below for his cabin.

* * *

_HEAR…. FEEL… THINK…_

* * *

**TBC**


	2. Interlude One: Wish I May, Wish I Might

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ennui can be a dangerous thing...

* * *

_ How many lives has this been? _

_How many times have they breathed a first breath? _

_How long has it been since they had truly lived?_

* * *

“Hey, have you heard…?”

“Breaking news now on YBX4 --”

“We’re choking our oceans with plastics! But we can—“

Click. Click. Click.

Finally he turned off the TV. Dropping the remote into the basket on the coffee table, he stood up. His broad shoulders were bowed in exhaustion. Just another Saturday at home. Not even his gaming console garnered a vaguely interested glance. Outside in the summer heat police sirens blared but he paid it no heed. Plodding into his tiny kitchen, he instead shoved a cup against the dispenser embedded in his refrigerator door. Ice crashed down with a sharp noise into the plastic. He pulled it away once he had enough. But then he paused, not switching the option to water.

Exhaling through his nose in a distinct sigh, he set his cup down on the counter. He reached up to the top of his fridge to pull down a decanter of apple whiskey. The amber liquid sloshed inside the bottle. Technically it was too early in the day to be drinking for ‘respectable’ folk. It wasn’t even noon. Good thing he wasn’t respectable in any sense. With an air of ‘fuckitwhatever’, he poured half the bottle into his cup.

Yup, just another Saturday at home.

* * *

_Are you sure you want to do this?_

_Yes, he’s languished here long enough. And we are out of time. He’ll make the wish soon._

_But… he’s not exactly Champion material…_

_In this world, he’s never had to deal with more than a sprained ankle and never has he held a weapon. Of course he doesn’t seem like Champion material. This world doesn’t need a Champion right now._

_But it’s dying._

_My dear, no amount of Champions could ever stop that particular inevitability. This world’s first Calamity cannot be stopped._

* * *

Sitting out on the balcony of his tiny studio apartment, he stared up at the sky. Only a few stars were faintly visible through the light pollution since he wasn’t actually living in a big city. Just another suburban village. The beer bottle in his hand dripped with condensation, coating his hand with cold moisture. He looked down at the bottle. Tilting it side to side, he contemplated the glass and the sloshing of the beer inside. He let out a tsk of annoyance and set it down with a clink on his little side table.

He stood up. He leaned against his railing, tilting his head back again. And then a strange streak of light sailed across the night sky, cutting through darkness. A blue shooting star?

“Sure, why the hell not?” He let out a snort of amusement. “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight…”

* * *

**_Thou art appearing at last, little Light. Thy time will come. And thoust will deliver unto us a new Era._**

If the entity had a mouth, it would have smiled.

** _We guarantee it._ **

* * *

**End Interlude One**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 500 words is better than no words! (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑
> 
> Send a kudos my way if you like. Thank you.


	3. A City Upon A Western Isle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginning in a new place is often a frustrating time. Finding a place to belong even more so. D'arshan is the very picture of frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which our miqo'te friend struggles with the beginning of his journey as an adventurer upon the island of Vylbrand in the shining city of Limsa Lominsa.

* * *

The ring in the palm of his hand gleamed bright silver in the sunlight. Tracing the pad of his thumb along its circular shape, Arshan’s lips quirked up in bemusement. Become famous enough to have stories of his exploits be sung far and wide? Sure, why not? He laughed and pocketed the ring gifted to him by the merchant.

With a swish of his tail, D’arshan entered the city of Limsa Lominsa. The sun was shining bright and the world was full of possibilities. It was time to get this show on the road.

* * *

With each passing day, the urge to shove a pastry into K’lyhia’s mouth so she would stop talking about probabilities for just five freaking seconds grew. He liked her, don’t mistake D’arshan, but surely she could speak of other things? Even the weather, anything. It made him want to throw his own grimoire into the harbor to actually join the fishing guild instead of in thought just for some escape from the numbers spewing from the other miqo’te’s mouth. Or just throw himself into the harbor and swim for freedom. He wasn’t being picky at the moment.

Stomping into the Drowning Wench, he swerved around a few sailors dancing a drunken jig to plop his ass down at the bar in front of Baderon. With a thunk, D’arshan dropped his forehead onto the hardwood of the bar top.

“Having a moment, lad?” Baderon asked, the smirk obvious in his tone.

“I hate numbers,” D’arshan replied.

The bar owner laughed as he filled a glass of ale. He set it down by the miqo’te’s head. “Well, I ain’t got no head for numbers meself,” he said merrily, “Same for ye, I reckon?”

Lifting his head up, he took a swig of the ale given to him. “Oh no, I’m decent enough with numbers.” Vague memories of calculus flashed in his head for a moment. “But talking about them all day long? No thanks.” D’arshan sighed. “I don’t think I’m cut out to be a full-time arcanist. Magic is easy and I like my carbuncle but the statistics? Probabilities and yada yada? Gods be good, let me just fling fireballs at people’s heads instead.”

Baderon huffed at him. “Mayhap ye shoulda gone to Ul’dah then.” The expression on the other’s face at the suggestion made the older man guffaw and slap his leg. “Don’t like that idea, do ye?” D’arshan muttered something about ‘tiny evil popoto overlords’ into his mug of ale that made the head of the Limsa Adventurer’s Guild sputter and cackle. “Had a few run-ins, I’mma guessing!’ Still chuckling, Baderon refilled the mug. “Well, laddie, I may have something for ye to get yer asrse out of the city for a bit. Adventurer business, like as not.”

“Oh?” D’arshan perked up, his ears tilted forward in interest.

“Aye, a request for aid at the Summerford farms from old Staelwyrn…”

* * *

Kidnappers, great, just what he wanted to deal with. The farmhands were jumpier than a long-tailed marmot in a room full of rocking chairs and that reduced the productiveness of the farm which made Staelwyrn pissy. It was quite the cycle.

D’arshan sighed as he adjusted his ringbands. At his feet his carbuncle companion hopped around, its glittering appearance bright in the afternoon sun. He clicked his tongue at the aetheric summon and flicked his fingers at it in a pattern that meant ‘follow’. Obediently it trotted along at his heels. Together they were off to Seasong Grotto where it was rumored that the stalkers of the farm were hiding.

The sun began to set as he wandered down into the grotto. Strange glowing but unaggressive creatures floated around the cavern but D’arshan didn’t see any evidence of occupants save for the torches. But according one of the farmhands, it was a sacred space as well so perhaps these were mage-made torches meant to light up on their own at sunset. Best to make sure though.

As he circled the monument deep in the grotto, the lit torches cast eerie shadows along the roughly hewn walls. But just as he was halfway around thus behind the monument, a voice started to recite a poem. Quickly he rounded the stone, gaze landing upon a miqo’te woman in a white tunic. And those were the weirdest glasses he had ever seen in both lives.

“Thus reads the Sailors’—“

“I know how to read,” D’arshan interrupted, patience at zero percent and grimoire open for casting. His carbuncle crouched at his feet in a ready position. “And I suggest you speak quickly on why you’re here, stranger.” The ‘or I’ll blast you sky-high’ was heavily implied by his tone and stance.

The woman let out an irritated huff. “No manners, I see,” she announced. “And I could ask you to do the same, adventurer.” She crossed her arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her tail bristling.

Tough nuts, he didn’t care if she felt insulted. Weirdo stalkers were hovering about, no time for niceties.

The beginnings of a Ruin spell lit up his fingertips of his free hand. “An investigation on the farm’s behalf,” he said. A growl from his carbuncle grew louder, its tail stiff and straight up. “Now talk, miss.”

“Ah, so you’re the adventurer I’ve seen around Summerford Farms…” She lifted her fist to tap against her cheek. “I thought myself on the trail of kidnappers but it would seem that I’ve missed my mark.” But rather than relaxing him, the statement only kept up his guard. “Or perhaps not. ‘Twould seem too that the aetheric disturbances here are not natural.” The woman adjusted her glasses. “Nor is it mere coincidence that we were drawn here...”

But then a roar echoed in the grotto. “Shit,” D’arshan spat, dashing closer as a goobue charged in. “Carbuncle, go!” The aetheric summon snarled, jumping at the crazed creature. Using its tail, it flung wind magic at the attacker. The goobue bellowed angrily, swatting at the carbuncle and the two mages within the grotto. The two miqo’te dodged in opposite directions. It roared again as a Ruin spell hit its chest.

“There is something awry with the creature!” the woman shouted. Her strange glasses/goggles were hanging around her neck now as she wielded a wand of sprouted ash. Ah, a conjurer. She summoned up a Stone spell to fling at their assailant. “I sense its anger.” She let out a wheeze as she rolled under a swinging arm. “Damnation!”

D’arshan hissed, flinging poisonous aether at the goobue. The spell struck true, pulsing purple light indicating the magic poison affecting the creature. “Heads up, we got more dance partners, lady!” The once docile spirits in the grotto had been stirred into a frenzy now, joining the battle. “Carbuncle, round them up!” The carbuncle’s battle cry in response echoed out and a burst of wind cut through the spirits made manifest.

“More unwelcome visitors come! We must slay them quickly lest we be overwhelmed!”

A goobue hand smacked against D’arshan, sending him into a backward roll. Thankfully when he rolled back up to his feet he still had his grimoire in hand even as he staggered and wheezed. A cure spell breezed around him. “Thanks!” he said to his temporary battle partner, the woman nodding at him in reply. “That hurt, you bastard.” Powering up a Ruin spell, he wove a hint of fire into it. Carbuncle, having slain the two waves of frenzied spirits, distracted the goobue. The fiery Ruin grew in his hand. “Carbuncle, down!”

The summon jumped down from the goobue’s shoulders in a backflip as D’arshan threw the spell forward. The spiraling ball of aether and flame slammed into the attacking goobue, lighting it up as the aether coursed through its body. A high pitched scream echoed in the grotto from behind its many rows of fangs. It flailed in agony.

The goobue collapsed forward, sizzling. It let out one last whine before exhaling its last breath.

D’arshan fell to one knee, panting. His grimoire dropped to the ground from trembling fingers. Carbuncle bounced over to his side, nosing at the fallen book before dropping a crystal before his summoner. It chirped at him, pawing the crystal closer. “Easy there, Carbuncle. I’m alright.” He rubbed between its ears, the summon pushing against his fingers. He watched as the woman poked at the dead gooobue, examining it. Huffing, he picked up the crystal Carbuncle had given him with curiosity. It glowed softly in the dimness of the cavern. But then his vision began to swim. Pressing his other hand against his head, D’arshan hissed in pain. And then he collapsed, much to Carbuncle’s alarm. It barked, circling D’arshan fearfully.

The last thing D’arshan saw in the real world was the miqo’te woman rushing to his side.

* * *

_CRYSTAL BEARER… I AM HYDAELYN. ALL MADE ONE…_

* * *

D’arshan and the woman climbed out of the grotto once he woke and proved he could walk without aid.

“May our paths cross again under the light of the Crystal,” she had called to him before disappearing into the night.

“Right, sure,” D’arshan muttered. He took out the crystal that Carbuncle had fetched for him from his pocket, eyeballing it as though it was going to sprout fangs to bite him. “Weird, weird, weird.” Shoving it back into his pocket, he clicked his fingers at his summon. “Come on, buddy. Back to the farms and a bed for us.” Carbuncle chirped cheerfully, his glowing body leading the way back in the darkness. D’arshan pulled a dagger from his boot for just in case. His aether was still recovering from being slung everywhere during the battle. But he also didn’t want to use the dagger the woman had pulled from the goobue’s back.

He determinately refused to think about the vision he had after collapsing. Goddesses talking to him? Perish the thought. 

* * *

The relief Staelwyrn expressed at his return was overwhelming, like the man was one movement away from clutching D’arshan into a suffocating bear hug. It was a good thing the Roe didn’t give in to that impulse or else he would have gotten a dagger to the face. D’arshan was feeling a bit high-strung at the moment. He dismissed Carbuncle as his patron spoke.

“I feared I’d sent ye to yer death!” Staelwyrn cried. “Twelve bless that ye came back, lad.” He shook his head. “I hope ye managed to find something. I’d hate to think ye risked yer life for nothing.”

“Here.” D’arshan put the recovered knife into his patron’s hand. “Pulled this from the back of the goobue who attacked in the grotto. A sailor’s rope cutting knife, right?”

“Aye, so it is. Any sailor worth their salt has one in their kit.” Staelwyrn scowled as he examined it in the torchlight. “These kidnappers may very well be pirates, hoping to lure my people back into the pirate’s life of booty and plundering.”

“Another thing. Met a woman down at the grotto, a miqo like me. Weirdo. White hair. Strange goggle things. Sound familiar?”

“Hmm? Ah! Y’shtola! Aye, I know her. She’s a good lass, a bit odd, Twelve bless. But she means well, been in Limsa for a good while. She studies aether and that brings her around these parts often. Not the sort to be consorting with kidnappers, trust me on that, my lad.” The taller of the two growled. “Unlike those yeomen o’ mine who may go back to pirating for its ease. Trust is in short supply for that lot, unfortunately.”

“That’s a shame,” D’arshan said, propping his hand on his hip. “I’d rather be a farmer than a pirate considering the Admiral’s been cracking down hard.”

“Ye’ve the right of it. Would that you’d join me farm. Yer a reliable sort, D’arshan. Not bad for an adventurer. But methinks you’d hate it afore long. Ye became an adventurer for a reason, eh?” Staelwyrn laughed, wrapping the rope knife since it lacked a sheath. He handed it off to his second who went to put it away. “Ye have my thanks, D’arshan. If it weren’t for adventurers like ye, my farm would be worse off than it is now. Go on and find yerself a bed, lad. I’ll see ye in the morn!”

With that, D’arshan let himself be shooed off to the travelers’ barracks. He didn’t even undress before collapsing into a bed. His grimoire was still at his hip even. But he was exhausted. It was too much effort to care. Instead he drifted to sleep.

It was best that he got some rest now because the situation at Summerford was going to escalate and quickly.

* * *

_Don’t set Sevrin on fire. Don’t set Sevrin on fire…_

* * *

The masked stranger collapsed and the golem crumbled into rubble. The surviving Serpent Reavers, the party guilty for the kidnappings, were long gone as well. Stupid blue tattooed fishback lovers. To the side Sevrin was curled up in a fetal position on the rocky ground in fear. Exhausted, D’arshan was pressed shoulder to shoulder with an equally tired Y’shtola. The battle was won, barely.

“That was… zero fun,” he wheezed.

“Agreed,” the other miqo’te replied, a wobble to her voice.

“Let’s never do that again.”

“Aye.”

“Fuck.”

“Aye.”

* * *

A few more weeks passed and the Tia from another world was tired from the nonstop work of running after K’lythia and doing any work Baderon threw his way. But this latest bullshit was quickly destroying the last of his desire to remain an arcanist.

Meeting the wayward master of the Arcanist Guild had worn on D’arshan’s patience significantly. And he didn’t have much to begin with ever since that first encounter with Doesmaga. “I cannot believe I had to dance for that asshat,” he grumbled to himself as he made his way back to Aleport. Tucked under his arm was K’lyhia’s new grimoire, handed to him by said asshat. “What an irresponsible dick.” And he still had to dance for the foreseer. Would the indignities ever cease?

He was already penning his resignation from the guild in his head. Of course D’arshan was going to help K’lyhia finish her business with Doesmaga. And it was probably going to happen in the most convoluted way possible knowing her as he did. However afterward, he was going to turn in his grimoire. Not the one he was gifted to him by his mother but the latest one from Thubyrgeim. His first was staying with him as a backup in case shit hit the fan. Besides he was very tired of being so squishy. Why were mages so squishy? Do they even lift? Training with the marauders just to gain some muscle strength to be less vulnerable sounded like something he ought to try. And he ought to get a new bow to get back into archery…

D’arshan wandered back into Aleport, head full of ideas for how to proceed after dealing with Doesmaga.

* * *

The exasperation D’arshan felt as he watched K’lyhia sail away without him was off the charts. Sure, just leave him on the damned pirate ship, he’ll just hitch a ride from the Yellowjackets. “Captain, it appears I have no ride to shore. If you could be so kind?” he said, turning toward the man in charge. The Roe just grinned at him and with a flourish of his hand motioned for the Tia to hop aboard his ship. “My thanks.”

“Does that to you often, lad?” the captain said in regards to the foreseer.

“Well, it’ll be the last time since she swanned off to travel with our guildmaster.” D’arshan settled down into the boat, crossing his arms, ears tilted back in aggravation. “They can babble about numbers to each other until the end of time for all I care.”

“Ach, no love loss there, I see.” The captain chortled to himself as his arcanist passenger seethed silently. “Not much a goodbye either, just reduced to a messenger boy.”

“The lot of any adventurer, captain.” The miqo’te sighed. “Think you can drop me off at the pier here at Costa de Sol?”

“Not to Limsa?”

D’arshan shot a quick glance at the bound and gagged Doesmaga then back at the captain. “No insult meant but no thanks.” The captain just laughed, understanding his desire to not be close to the pirate for that long.

“Aye, lad. The skiff at Costa will get you back to Limsa just fine. Off with you, now, lad.” He pulled up to the pier to let him off. “The Navigator watch over you, adventurer!” And he sailed away with the captured pirate, the other Yellowjackets of his unit following behind onward to Limsa Lominsa.

* * *

“You’re quitting?” Thubyrgeim gaped as the new grimoire she had planned to give their guild’s finest student was gently placed back into her hands. “But, but, but! You’ve grown so much these past moons! I’ve never seen anyone learn so quickly since our guildmaster! Your insights into arcanima has inspired so many of our novices…” The implied ‘you inspired me’ was painful.

“Guildmaster Thubyrgeim…”

“Acting Guildmaster.”

D’arshan snorted. “In my eyes, you’re the guildmaster here, ma’am. You’re the one guiding the novices and keeping the guild afloat and working properly.” His low opinion of K’rhid Tia was obvious. He flashed a small-fanged grin at her. “Besides Guildmaster Thubyrgeim has a nice ring to it.” He kindly ignored the Roe woman’s blush. “But in the end, arcanima, while fascinating, is ultimately not for me. Too much time among thaurmaturges, I fear. All fling fire first and ask questions never.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you had a background as a thaurmaturge…”

“Only informally, when I was a kit. Ma indulged my thirst for any kind of magic knowledge and the guild in Ul’dah found me cute enough let me delve into their beginner material.”

“I suppose that’s what inspired your flame based Ruin spell.” Thubyrgeim sighed. “No helping it, I guess. If you feel that your path as an arcanist is to end here, so be it.” She tilted her head, staring down at her former student. “I don’t believe K’lythia could have ever predicted that you would leave the guild.”

Rolling his eyes, D’arshan chuffed in amusement. “K’lythia is good with probabilities and strategy but her awareness of social cues… need refinement.” The fact that she never picked up on his discomfort and frustration was, well, frustrating. Surely even his agitated tail movements would have given it away? But obviously not. “Anyway, you’ve been good to me, Guildmaster. Thank you for everything.”

Reaching out to place her hand down on his shoulder, Thubyrgeim beamed at him. “Thank you, D’arshan. The inspiration you’ve given our novices will fuel them in the days to come. Know that you are always welcome here.” She squeaked in surprise when he hugged her. “Oh, well!”

“You ever need anything, let me know! Bye, Guildmaster!” D’arshan laughed and jogged out of the guild, weaving around the lines for the inspector counter. Thubyrgeim watched him go with a fond expression on her face.

“That boy… he’s going to be amazing wherever he ends up.”

* * *

Once Kujata fell to D’arshan’s axe, he thanked Axemaster Wyrnzoen after returning to Limsa, told him to call if he or the Marauders’ Guild needed anything, and booked it out of the Coral Tower like rapid jackals were at his heels. He would keep practicing and remember what he learned but the marauder’s life was not for him either.

Back to the drawing board then.

* * *

Frustrated and looking to relax, D’arshan took up a fishing pole. He would just have to deal with the fish puns, no problem. The Fisher’s Guild seemed pretty chill compared to the frantic energy at the Arcanist Guild or the bloodthirsty training with the marauders. It was a nice change. He picked a spot on the docks between the guild and the entrance to the Dutiful Sisters. With bait on the hook, he dropped his line into the water. A pail by his little stool was ready for any fish that might get reeled in for the day to be turned in to Miss Sisipu.

By his fourth anchovy he had gotten into the gentle swing of fishing. Though he could do without the damned jellyfish. “Stupid oceanclouds,” he muttered. His ears flicked back and he sighed, looking over his shoulder. “You need something, friend?” He could also do without the spying.

The door guard paused in his approach and smiled sheepishly. “Heard me, did ye?” he laughed.

“I’d have to be completely oblivious to miss you, big guy. So what’s up? You’ve been staring at me all day. You want the fish or something? I don’t mind giving them up, can always get more. Better than letting some poor sod starve.”

The massive Roe man blinked at him in surprise and he rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s right kind of ye, lad.” He cupped his chin in thought. “I just be thinkin’ that I’ve seen ye running around afore with the arcanists… or was it the marauders…?”

Reeling in his latest catch, the miqo’te dropped his last needed anchovy into his pail. “I was with both,” he answered as he put his rod and tackle away into his armiger. He stood up, popping his stool into his armiger as well. “You need to talk to either guild, friend?” D’arshan held his pail of fish, though he was ready to swing it, water and fish and all, if need be. All it would take was flicker of his aether to summon up his axe or his grimoire after.

“Nay, laddie. But I’ve heard of ye and the good ye’ve done for our girl Limsa Lominsa. Old Baderon sings yer praises to any willin’ to listen. Any waddle, me name’s Lonwoerd, Lonny if ye like and our organization is always looking for new blood to help with the job.” He shrugged his enormous shoulders. “And don’t ye worry none, we’re sanctioned by th’ Admiral herself.”

Curiosity now roused, D’arshan flicked his ears in interest. “The job, huh?” He narrowed his pale eyes. “I’ll think about it.” But not before speaking with Baderon himself, of course. “Is there a time limit on this ‘offer’, Lonny?”

“Nay, no time limit.” Lonny nodded. “No time limit at all. Ye go on and gather whatever information ye need afore givin’ yer answer.” He grinned again. “No rush.” He lumbered back to his post.

D’arshan twitched the tip of his tail as he eyed the Roe who had gone back to guarding his door. Humming, he turned toward the Fisher’s Guild to turn in his catch. He kept his ears perked for approaching strangers as he strolled along the docks beneath the darkening sky. But all the while, the miqo’te thought about Lonny’s offer.

Curiosity may have killed the cat but he was going to sate his anyway.

* * *

**TBC**


	4. Interlude 2, 3, 4 & 5: Bonds of the Seventh Dawn 01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newly joined as a Scion, the bonds between D'arshan and several of the other Scions grow. And they find that his stoicism is not all that there was to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place before the fall of the Waking Sands/post Titan MSQ.

* * *

** Interlude: Cooking with Spice **

Confused and curious, Yda followed her nose into the second, smaller kitchen of the Waking Sands. It smelled like food but it also burned her nose? “Oh! D’arshan!” she exclaimed, recognizing the short blue hair of the lone occupant. “Are you cooking something spicy?” She scuttled over to stand next to him. The pugilist peered into pan.

D’arshan looked up, his gaze leaving the frying pan for a moment to see who had stumbled in. “Heya, yup.” He turned back to his work and used his metal tongs to flip the chicken breast he was frying. The breading was an angry red in color. “Careful, Yda. This oil is boiling hot.” On the counter by the stove was a plate under a small wire rack holding two other fried chicken breasts just as red as the one in the pan. There was a small stack of empty plates at the ready as well.

“Oh, pickles!” Yda excitedly shoved a sliced piece into her mouth from a bowl next to the chicken pieces. “Hmm, you make these? I thought I saw a jar of them in the icebox.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I made the pickles. Sure, you can have some,” he said deadpan.

“Thanks!” Oblivious, thy name is Yda. “So whatcha making?”

“A sandwich I remembered from back home,” D’arshan answered. He didn’t continue with the ‘from back in my home world across dimensions’ part. His last piece of chicken bubbled in the hot oil. “I had to adjust a few spices but I found some interesting peppers back in Hawker’s Alley that I managed to snag. Had the word Dragon in the name, figured that meant they were hot peppers of some sort. Dried and ground them up myself.”

“I love Dragon Peppers, they burn so good! Though that definitely explains why your chicken looks so red…”

He found something vaguely disturbing about that first sentence but he let it go. “Right. Ernie said not to eat too many but I’ll be keeping a jar of ground Dragon Peppers here anyway.” He pulled out the last chicken breast from the pan and extinguished the flame on the stove. “There, gotta let it drip on the rack.”

“The plate is to catch the oil, right? So it doesn’t drip on the counter?”

“Yeah. I commissioned this little rack from the blacksmiths in Limsa so any fried food I make doesn’t become soggy. Bought the bread here in Vesper this morning.”

“Huh, that’s a good idea.” Yda thought for a moment. “But you fried up three chicken breasts. How many sandwiches are you making? Can I have one?” She bounced in place, her hands clapped together in front of her masked face.

D’arshan laughed. “Sure, indulge yourself.” He gestured toward the basket of bread. “Need me to cut one of the buns in half for you?” He dug out a bread knife. Its serrated edge gleamed in the afternoon sunlight streaming in from the window. At her affirmative, he deftly sliced the bun apart and popped it onto an empty plate followed by a piece of meat. He brushed some red sauce onto the crispy chicken. “Pickles?”

“Of course! Just like back in your home, right?” Yda was very excited to try the dish. “Can I have three?”

“Yeah, babe, hold on.” D’arshan didn’t even notice the term of endearment that popped out of his mouth. Nor did he notice his companion’s blush. “Okay and some shredded lettuce on top and we’re done. Here.” He held out the plate with Yda’s sandwich. “Be careful, might get a bit messy.”

“O… okay, thanks!” Yda grabbed the plate and went to sit down at the little kitchen table. She watched for a moment as the miqo’te made his sandwich next. “Ready!”

Laughing, he sat down at the table with her. “You didn’t have to wait, Yda,” he said. “Here, I grabbed some napkins.” He placed the two folded squares of cloth between them on the table. “Go on and eat.” He bit into his sandwich. A pleased expression crossed his face at the taste. “Almost hot enough.”

Considering that Yda could smell the spicy heat wafting up from her own sandwich, his verdict was not comforting. But she liked spicy! Sure, she could only eat two Dragon Peppers only every once in a while. But that doesn’t matter! No way was she going to be intimidated! She wriggled in her seat and picked up her sandwich. Ah, that burned her nose hairs up close. With grit and determination, she bit into her sandwich and chewed. Ah-ha, the pickle and lettuce added a nice… oh.

“HOT!!!!!!”

* * *

** Interlude: Rejection **

“D’arshan! Welcome back!” Tataru sang as he walked through the door. She waved her hands at him cheerily. Her bright smile and rosy cheeks were a welcome sight after slogging through the latest mess of the week.

Exhausted but glad to see his favorite lalafell, the newest Scion in the organization smiled at her. “Hey, I’m back.” He gratefully sank down into the chair she pointed at for him to sit. “How are you?” She didn’t seem to mind when he peeled off his gloves and dropped them on the ground by his feet.

“Oh, you know how it is! Busy, busy, busy. Tea?” When he nodded, she poured him a cup from her little teapot. “My goodness, we do keep you running about. I haven’t seen you in ages. Stay here a while with me, hmm?” She handed him some sweet ginger cookies and a finger sandwich made with soft white bread on a dainty little plate.

“Tataru, I love you, please marry me.”

Her laugh was like silver bells upon the wind as she patted his cheek and merrily rejected him.

* * *

** Interlude: Temper, Temper **

“I cannot believe you!”

“Oh loosen up, you stiff!”

In his hands, D’arshan’s lance creaked in protest as he squeezed it. The muscles in his forearms flexed, tension tightening his neck and shoulders in stress. The miqo’te grit his teeth and exhaled sharply through his nose. His ears quivered as they drifted back to lay flat against his skull. The lashing of his tail would have been a warning sign to anyone paying attention.

The duo squabbling behind him didn’t notice. At all.

“Now see here, you scatterbrain!”

“Don’t you call me that!”

“SHUT UP!” Birds scattered into the sky at the bellow. Diremites fled back into their burrows. A pair of patrolling Wood Wailers passing by immediately scurried away. The woods fell silent as D’arshan whirled around to face his traveling companions. His pupils were practically thin pencil lines. The very air seemed to darken as his agitated aether made itself known.

“Be. Silent.” He hissed, a low growl vibrating in his throat. The two before him huddled together as closely as they could considering their height discrepancy. They had finally realized the angry coeurl in their midst. “I am done, do you hear me? I am done listening to the two of you! We are going go into Gridania without another word from either of you. We are going to the Adders. We are going to speak with the commanding officer about the slyphs. We are going to NOT ARGUE ONE MORE MINUTE OR SO HELP ME I WILL MURDER YOU BOTH AND FEED YOU TO THE ROSELETS!”

Yda gulped while Papalymo gaped in disbelief.

“Are we clear?” D’arshan asked softly, dangerously. The two Scions frantically nodded. “Great. Let’s go.” He whipped back around on his heel and marched onward to Bentbranch.

* * *

** Interlude: Scholastic Discussion **

D’arshan could feel his eyes glazing over as Urianger continued on his lyrical lecture about aetheric disturbances in regards to… whatever it is that had gotten the elezen into a flap. Not that you could really tell considering the man’s voice was low and steady but maybe this was his version of excited? D’arshan couldn’t begin to even guess. Between the aether theory and Urianger’s manner of speech, he wasn’t quite sure about the conversation’s actual topic.

“Elizabethan…”

“Beg pardon, mine friend. Thoust hast an opinion? Verily thy insight wouldst be useful.”

“Uhhh… maybe try something else? A different method?” Jesus on a pogo stick, could D’arshan be any vaguer?! “By using the scientific method from the beginning to gain a different view of the problem and therefore forming a new hypothesis to test.” A bead of sweat rolled down from D’arshan’s right temple in the ensuing silence. He had definitely pulled that out of his ass.

Urianger slowly tilted his head in thought. “I see. Though thoust spake of a method known not to me, thy suggestion mayhap hast merit. A different view and a new hypothesis.” He nodded. “Come, D’arshan, and speak onto me more of this… scientific method. Though I do believe we hast a similar thing in Sharlayan.” He pulled the miqo’te from his seat and tugged him toward his study.

Now he had definitely stuck his foot in his mouth… D’arshan didn’t even bother struggling. Instead he pouted at his fellow Scions in a silent request for aid.

Papalymo shook his head as they passed before turning around to continue his lecture at Yda. Yda smiled and shrugged. No rescue from that pair then. And not from Y’shtola either, telling from the amusement clear on her face. Traitors, the lot. Even Arenvald giggled at him as they disappeared from the main room of headquarters.

Fuck.

* * *

** END INTERLUDES**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I was very enthusiastic about these little interactions between D'arshan and his new friends. I hope you enjoyed it! (^_^)7


	5. Getting the Ball Rolling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The life of an adventurer is never boring. Embarrassing? Yes. Weird? Definitely. But boring? Absolutely not. 
> 
> But this was just the calm before the storm, that last moment of sleep before sunrise and walking upon a new path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of time skippy filler so we can get to the meaty stuff next chapter. And onward we go!

* * *

A pair of shoes were gingerly set upon the bar top. Two men looked upon them, all gleaming buckles and shining leather. The elder of the duo slowly smiled, a mocking edge to the expression.

“Baderon, no.”

“Aye, lad.”

“Baderon, NO.”

“Nae use denying, friend. Ye ain’t got much a choice. Yer shit crusted boots cannae be on yer feet for this.”

“They’re ugly. Please, Baderon…”

“Fancy shoes or ye won’t be let in.”

D’arshan hissed, his tail fluffing up with outrage as his ears flattened down against his skull. The very image of an angry feline. “There’s heels! I can’t wear heels! I DON’T KNOW HOW TO WALK IN THEM!” Snickers from the patrons sitting at a nearby table reached his ears. The miqo’te whipped around to glare at the giggling sailors. One of them yelped at the venomous look and the whole table scrambled to leave, dropping their gil onto the table before fleeing.

“Well, ye’ve got all afternoon to practice, my lad,” Baderon said gleefully. “Off ye go.” He flapped his hands at the bristling adventurer. “I’m sure the fancy footwork ye’ve been learnin’ at the Dutiful Sisters will be o’ great help.”

“I hate you!” D’arshan shouted as he snatched up the damning shoes and stomped out of the Drowning Wench.

“Nae ye don’t!” Baderon shouted back.

* * *

“And how’s our fainting damsel this fine morn?” Baderon waltzed into the inn room he had stashed the previously unconscious miqo in after he was carried in bridal style by the Admiral herself. “Swooned into the dashing arms of our illustrious leader last night, ye did. Right in the middle o’ the banquet. Nicely done, lad.”

“I hate you…” D’arshan groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Ah! You fuck!” he hissed as Baderon whipped open the curtains. “Why are you like this?!”

“Oh, old Baderon’s gots to get his amusements one way or another, boyo. Up, up, up! The Admiral needs to speak to ye.”

“Noooo…."

* * *

Having delivered the first letter to Lady Kan-E-Senna, D’arshan excitedly asked for directions to the Leatherworkers’ Guild. He hadn’t had time to write to his mother about his visit to the forest city. So this was going to surprise her! It’s had been moons since he had seen her smiling face and heard her sing-song voice. The startled Keeper miqo’te Wood Wailer, overwhelmed by the other’s bouncy approach and enthusiasm, stuttered out directions from Nophica’s Altar.

“Great! Thanks!” Wriggling his ears happily at her, he trotted off. His long tail swayed behind him, a cheerful curl to it.

The woman watched him go, absolutely flabbergasted by the encounter of a miqo’te male that hadn’t ended aggressively. Usually Keeper men and women only truly interacted when it was time for breeding… She shook her head. “Seekers,” she muttered to herself. She had known her Sun loving cousin miqo’te were energetic but that had been a bit much.

Slowing to a walk as he entered the area that contained the amphitheater, D’arshan swerved toward the little fence that was the barrier between the seating section and the pathway. A group was practicing on the stage before a scant audience. Curious, he scuttled over to stand at the fence to peer down to watch. It looked like some kind of comedy, one of the actors purposely tripping while shouting lines. He laughed quietly as the actor flailed around in an exaggerated manner.

“D’arshan?”

D’arshan froze, his ears standing straight up. His tail fluffed in surprise. Whirling around, his eyes widened. “Mama!” he shouted. For once feeling like the teenager that he physically was, he threw himself across the distance between himself and his mother. A few onlookers, a group of older women, watched, cooing.

D’ayaza caught him, surprised by his gain in weight. Oh, did his shoulders become wider? Was he always this tall? Wrapping her arms around her kit, she squeezed. Her nose pressed against the hollow of his shoulder, his scent of soft musk now tinged with the salt of a sea breeze and metal instead of desert sand and leather. She could feel the hard muscles of his back beneath her work roughed hands. He was bulkier, that was a certainty. But Ayaza remembered one of his last letters that spoke of wielding axes at the Marauders’ Guild. But there were long daggers strapped at his hips. Had he quit the Marauders then? She pulled back and looked up at him, eyes shining bright.

The younger miqo’te beamed happily at her, his eyes creasing into happy slits. “Surprise!” he said with a laugh. D’arshan gently held her by her biceps. His tail wagged and swayed, conveying his happiness. A purr rumbled in his chest as she cupped his face in her hands.

Ayaza looked at him. There was a new facial scar he hadn’t had before on the left of his chin. His white freckles were even brighter against his tan skin. But his natural facial markings were still the same around his eyes and the red claw marks symmetrically painted in red along his jaw. He had earned his paint by completing his first solo hunt. The three D tribe braids along his right temple were still there, nice and neat. This was still her Arshan, with his pale eyes and bright hair.

“Ma?”

“Look at you, my kit. It’s only been seven moons but you’ve grown so much.” She patted his shoulders. “I don’t remember these being so wide, my son. Apparently learning how to use a battle axe has done you favors.” Ayaza laughed at his sputtering embarrassment. “Oh hush, let me tease.”

“There’s more silver in your hair,” Arshan blurted out. He flushed. “Sorry.” He peered at her from beneath his lashes. “You’re still so beautiful, Mama. Are there any men I have to destroy on your behalf? Well, any that you haven’t destroyed yourself?”

“No, I’ve destroyed them all already, sorry,” Ayaza replied, not sounding sorry at all. Stepping away so she could hook her arm around his. “Now then, come escort your mother to one of the cafés so we can catch up on everything since our last letters!”

Arshan cheerily followed her lead, arm in arm with her. “Sure. How’s the cake around here?” They chatted as they walked.

* * *

“…and Solkwyb told me ‘just play along and let my brother think that we didn’t see through his disguise’! I really struggled not to laugh the entire time. It was so bad, Ma, worst disguises ever.”

Ayaza laughed, her head tilted back. “Oh no, my goodness!” She coughed, breath hitching.

“They didn’t even change their clothes!” Arshan crowed. “Good thing they’re marauders, because they would make shitty rogues.” He sipped his chilled sweet tea. “What about you?”

“Oh you know how it is, Geva is as unrelenting as ever in her pursuit of the best quality. Aurelient nearly burst into tears when she told him his latest circle of leather didn’t even meet standards and then some besides.” Ayaza shrugged. “He needed to be taken down a notch anyway.” She took a bite of her cake.

Arshan narrowed his eyes. “Are we talking about that racist asshole elezen?” he asked.

“One in the same, kit.” Her fangs flashed in her smile. “It was a thing of beauty though, watching Geva verbally tear into him. She had definitely heard his nastiness, brought it up in her scolding.” Ayaza wriggled her shoulders, almost preening. “I, on the other hand, continue to deliver the quality my dear guildmaster looks for in our brand.”

“Of course you do! You’re one of the best leatherworkers in Eorzea.”

“Now then,” Ayaza leaned forward, a lock of her silvery red hair flopping down across her forehead. “Tell me more about Limsa and those lovely daggers you have.”

* * *

Wandering along, D’arshan finally stumbled upon the Archers’ Guild the next day. His flight to Ul’dah was scheduled for the end of the week and he couldn’t hog all of his mother’s time. She did have to work after all. But she had urged him to explore the city. So he had found a path he hadn’t seen yet and followed it. The familiar sounds of arrows hitting targets was soothing. He ignored the suspicious and vaguely hostile stares, completely unbothered. A leftover from his time as an apathetic loner who stopped giving a shit what other people thought.

Besides all of the guilds were open to adventurers for learning.

D’arshan entered only to stop when he saw a Keeper miqo’te woman nervously scrunched up on a bench inside the guildhall. He glanced at the receptionist who only shrugged in confusion at him. Slowly he approached, making sure his footsteps were just loud enough. “Hey, are you okay, friend?” He knelt down before the young woman. She looked up at him with watery eyes. Her ears with their tufted tips were laid flat back against her head in upset. “Do you need help?”

“I… um…” She twiddled her fingers together. She pulled her shoulders up higher by her jawline. “I… need to… send a letter?” she managed to squeak out. “To… to Parnell in… the markets. Aboutpotionsohgods!”

He took a moment to parse out her last sentence. He hesitantly nodded. “Okay, a letter about potions to Parnell.” D’arshan scratched the back of his head. “Umm… do you need help doing that?” He grunted when the Keeper shoved an envelope against his chest, her head bowed as she frantically nodded. “Okay, okay, cool. I’ll come back with a reply.” Making sure not to touch her hands without her permission, he plucked up the letter pressed against his pecs. He also resisted the urge to pat the top of her head, she was so small and cute and obviously incredibly anxious. “Hold on, okay.”

“O… okay!”

Well, so much for maybe joining the Archers’ Guild today. Another time perhaps after he got this girl’s reply to her.

* * *

So, it seemed elezen assholes were the norm in Gridania. Stupid Silvairre and his stupid shitty racism.

D’arshan continued to mentally complain, completely aware that the elezen archer who had set up this test was following him. Not that he gave it away, what was the fun in that? Tomorrow was his flight to Ul’dah but he was bound and determined to ace this stupid test near Bentbranch before jetting off to deliver his last letter to the Flame General. On silent feet, he skirted around the banemite, the vilekin none the wiser to his presence. And though D’arshan was a Seeker, his eyesight was more than keen enough in the gloom of the forest to see the set up targets.

The miqo’te made a soft chirping click sound as he drew back his bowstring. And then time seemed to slow for him, eyes shifting into sharp focus. The fletching of his arrow brushed along the high curve of his cheek. His breathing slowed. With the next exhale, he let his arrow fly. With barely a whisper, the arrow found its mark and sunk in deep.

D’arshan chuffed, shooting a subtle glance to where he knew Silvairre was hiding. Whistling jauntily, he slung his bow along his back to free up his hands. He climbed the tree, agile and sure-footed like any other miqo’te. The pierced target was plucked out of the tree. Hopping down, he rolled with his fall to pop back up to his feet.

Only four more to go.

* * *

D’arshan walked out of the meeting with General Raubahn Aldynn as quickly as he could without appearing discourteous. He would have run if he could have, but manners dictated otherwise. That had been… awkward. That joke he had to repeat from the Admiral was terrible. “What a great impression you had me leave, Admiral,” he muttered as he skittered out toward the Ruby Road Exchange. He exhaled in relief when he made it outside. The tension in his shoulders melted away. Dodging a group of street urchins, and gently guiding their hands away from his gil pouch, he made his way to the Adventurer’s Guild to check in.

The noise in the Quicksand wasn’t too bad from the after lunch crowd. The lalafells far outnumbered the other races native to Eorzea, which was expected for Ul’dah in general. A tiny waitress waved at him as he sat at the bar. Waving back, D’arshan sighed. The small proprietress in front of him laughed, placing a mug of ale at his elbow. “Gods, thank you, Madame Momodi.” He gratefully gulped down a mouthful.

“Why, I haven’t seen you in moons, little D’arshan!” Momodi reached out to pinch his cheek. “Where have you been?”

Flashing her a fanged smile, D’arshan shrugged. “Adventuring,” he replied. “Joined the guild at Limsa.”

Momodi gasped in feigned outrage, slapping her hands to her hips. “You rude boy! You didn’t sign up with me!” She wagged her finger at him. “And here I was, athinkin’ you’d join the Adventurer’s Guild through me in Ul’dah! Hmph!” Crossing her little arms, she jerked her head to the side in a false pout.

“Awww, don’t be mad, Madame Momodi!” He leaned forward to playfully touch his nose to her round cheek. “You’ll always be my favorite guildmistress, the Rose of the Quicksand.”

Laughing now, she shoved his face away from her. “You flirt, stop that. You haven’t changed at all.” They chatted, catching up on what had been going on since they last spoke. That was back when D’arshan had been making tentative plans to become an adventurer to explore Eorzea beyond the sands of Thanalan. Seven moons of adventuring tales were a lot to talk about…

But just before the dinner crowd could swell in numbers, a Sultansworn approached D’arshan. “Adventurer D’arshan?” he called. He bowed when the miqo’te turned toward him. “Sir Bartholomew must needs to speak with you.”

Flicking his left ear in surprise, the right perked forward, D’arshan raised his eyebrow. “Am I… in trouble?” he asked.

The paladin shook his head. “Nay, you are not. But he has received word of a situation that you may be able to resolve. Sir Bartholomew has all the details. He awaits you at the airship landing.” He bowed again before leaving.

“Tsk, at least I had gotten at least a week in Gridania.” D’arshan huffed. “Sorry that I have to leave so soon.”

Momodi flapped her hands at him. “No worries, no worries. I’ll just add your ale to your tab. Shoo, now! Work is calling.”

“But I don’t have a tab here…”

“You do now,” she sang. “So stay safe and come back alive so you can pay it!” Momodi poked his cheek. “Go, go, go. This might be a golden opportunity for you! After all, you’ve proven how reliable you are, now off you GET!” With every word she spoke, she delivered a poke to his cheek. “Get out of my bar and go be an adventurer!”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!”

* * *

It was only after managing to gather up a small party of fellow adventurers, crawling through three caves filled with pirates, cultists, and giants, and not dying that D’arshan was able to pay his unasked for tab at the Quicksand. But then a commotion drew his attention outside. The fearful pained cry of a woman immediately cut through the haze of his exhaustion. Tired and out of fucks to give, he stomped out of the tavern.

A refugee in a tattered robe was sprawled on the ground, surrounded by thugs. She was begging for mercy, weeping in fear. A crowd had formed a ring around the situation, unwilling to step in.

Unacceptable.

D’arshan snarled, shoving past the gaping cowards. He planted himself in front of the woman. His anger seemed to plug up his ears after he declared that he had seen the woman rightfully purchase the dodo meat. All he could hear was ‘wah wah wah’ from the leader of these idiots, like the adults from Charlie Brown. The fact that the vague memory of Charlie Brown cartoons had popped into his head didn’t matter at the moment. Instead a brief vision of the woman buying meat in the background while two men talked flashed before his eyes. When he blinked the vision away, three thugs were charging straight for him. He immediately drew his daggers Launching himself forward from the balls of his feet, D’arshan delivered on the beatdown these assholes had been begging for, with interest.

Kicking away the last idiot, D’arshan stalked forward, fangs bared at the dishonest merchant. The man cowered, eyes darting around in the hopes of seeing any support. But it didn’t come. Instead a familiar voice rang out over the crowd.

“I saw her buy the meat as well,” the voice announced, sealing the deal to the crowd that the man was lying.

“Leave or I slit your throat,” D’arshan growled. His eyes gleamed, his ears perked forward and quivering in anticipation. “Please give me a reason to do it.” The merchant squealed and scrambled away, diving through the crowd. He lashed his tail with disappointment. “What a shame.” Turning toward the shaken refugee, he forcefully relaxed his shoulders. “You alright there, ma’am?” he asked. He waved off her weepy gratitude. “Go, feed your babes. They’ll not bother you again.” He watched as she hurried away after a few more thanks.

“It’s good to see you again, D’arshan,” Y’shtola said as she appeared from the dispersing crowd. “Still coming to the downtrodden’s aid, I see.” She smiled at him.

“I thought that was you,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “How’s it hanging?”

Y’shtola tilted her head in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

“How are you?”

“Ah! I see. I am quite well. Though you appear to be quite tired.” She stumbled when he clapped a hand across her back.

“Yes, I haven’t even eaten in a while.” He started to lead her to the Quicksand. “Let’s eat supper and you can tell me why you’ve sought me out, eh? I’ll even pay.”

“Oh well, a meal does sound like a fine idea…”

“Good, good. Today’s Tuesday, you see, and it’s spicy fried chicken night here in the Quicksand. I haven’t had it in forever. I miss the peppers Madame Momodi puts into the breading.”

* * *

After Y’shtola left, having eaten and presented her proposition of joining her organization, D’arshan sat alone in the round booth table they had occupied together. He sipped his refilled ale. His free arm stretched across the top of the curved seating. The miqo’te was the very picture of leisure. But it was an illusion. He flicked his ears as he thought. His eyes looked over the milling evening crowd but he did not see; so deeply was he in his thoughts. With a tap, he set down his mug. Beside him on the seat, the tip of his tail lazily twitched.

“Heavy thinking, this evening?” Momodi asked as she hopped up into the booth.

Blinking, D’arshan came back to the present. “Shouldn’t you be at the counter?” he wondered in bemusement.

“Bah!” She waved a hand, kneeling on the seat but not on his tail. “Momozudi has the night shift,” she answered, pointing at her cousin across the tavern. The other lalafell, nearly identical to her, waved. But then a novice adventurer grabbed her attention. “But enough about that, what’s on your mind? Also, you need a bath.”

“Gee, thanks.” D’arshan huffed, his drooping mouth curling up into a tired smile. “What do you know of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn?” Her answering silence was telling. “Bad?”

Momodi shook her head. “No, not bad. But they are a very private group, exclusive. How did you hear that name?” Her frown deepened as D’arshan slowly told her everything. “So wheels are going into motion… Be careful, D’arshan. The things they face, they are not something to be taken lightly. If you do join, you must be extremely cautious.” She clapped her hands to his cheeks to tilt his head down so he could lock eyes with her. “If you do die, I will find one of the Coco brothers to bring you back so your mother and I can kill you ourselves.”

Ominous.

* * *

_Crystal bearer, now is the time to shine thy light upon all the world._

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, my dears! Toss a comment or kudos my way if you liked it. We're gearing up for the Ifrit story line in the MSQ. Until next time!


	6. Interlude 6, 7, 8, & 9: The Shenanigans of A Cat Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which D'arshan is a little teenaged shit for once. But he's very sorry when it accidentally goes too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lighthearted silliness; sometimes D'arshan has too much energy and does stupid shit because of it.

* * *

** Cats Being Cats **

_Quiet. So very quiet. On silent feet now. Shhh…_

Below the tall sycamore tree, a wary Silvairre kept watch. The Gods Quiver were short-staffed thanks to fighting the Ixal so he had been asked along with others in the guild to keep watch along the roads between Bentbranch and the Blue Badger Gate. His sharp eyes darted about as he kept his ears pricked to pick up any unusual sounds. But he felt something… he just couldn’t pinpoint where. Damnation, he was the best of the guild and the feeling of being hunted by the unseen raised the hairs at the back of his neck. The grip he had on his bow tightened. His shoulders grew tauter by the bell.

_Pause, wait. Wait. Ears forward. Keep low, merge your shadow with the ones around you. Let the birds keep singing. Do not disturb their nests. Step light. Shhh…_

Silvairre strung his bow, just a few moments away from nocking an arrow. Slowly he turned on his heel to survey his surroundings. He even looked up, peering into the shady foliage. Nothing. He let out a shaky breath. A bush rustled suddenly and the elezen nocked and drew back an arrow with perfect aim. But only a ground squirrel scampered out, chittering at him. Silvairre let out a hissing breath. He reduced the tension of his bow string, returning the arrow to his quiver. His nostrils flared with frustration.

_Prey is jumpy. Wait some more, watch and wait._

The elezen archer felt like he was close to having an aneurysm but he could see no reason for the feeling of eyes watching his every move. He paced around his assigned spot.

_One more step… NOW!_

Silvairre screamed as a heavy weight slammed against his back from above. His bow went flying into the tall grass. He flailed his arms but was somehow rolled mid-fall so that he landed on his back onto his madly laughing assailant.

Wait, he knew that voice…

“D’ARSHAN!” Silvairre struggled to roll off of the miqo’te man. He swiped his hands at him but the feline bastard was too slippery, eeling away and diving back into the bushes. He was laughing the entire way before the sound petered off as he hid himself again. Hooting feminine laughter from another tree then drew his attention. “LEIH!”

“One point to D’arshan!” Leih cried before disappearing into the canopy.

So that was the game they wanted to play. He narrowed his eyes. Well, as soon as his replacement came, Silvairre was going to pay them back. Tenfold.

* * *

** Poetry **

“Heey… hey Moony! Hey!” D’arshan, drunk as a skunk, elbowed Moenbryda. “Moon-Moon!” He cackled to himself at the joke no one on Eorzea would ever understand. “Sweet Moon in the sky~!”

Tipsy and giggly, Moenbryda punched the man’s arm. He let out a joking, babyish wail. “What you want, love?” Completing their little group, a snoozing Thancred snored from where he was bent over the table, his cheek pressed against the wood and his ass planted on his seat. His arms hung down past the table top at his sides. Drool soaked into his bangs.

“Wanna… wanna hear a poem?” D’arshan wondered loudly. Thancred snorted himself awake, squinting. A cowlick, wet from his own drool, stuck straight out from the side of his head.

Y’shtola, who had wandered over to drag Thancred to his room, perked her ears forward. “I didn’t know you were a poet, D’arshan,” she said. But she didn’t like the smile that slowly spread across his face. “Oh no…”

“Recite, recite, recite!” Moen said excitedly, waving around her half-full mug of ale.

“Are we having a poetry contest?” Thancred slurred.

D’arshan stumbled up from his chair, climbing onto the table. He swigged the last of his ale and tossed his mug over his shoulder. It landed upright perfectly on the bar top in front of a bemused F’lhaminn. Hoary Boulder goggled at the sight of the Warrior of Light swaying dangerously so high above their heads. Coultenet only sipped his ale. But the miqo’te, completely uncaring that he had destroyed Hoary Boulder’s good image of him, cleared his voice. D’arshan threw up his hands, wiggling his fingers. “Jazz hands!” he proclaimed to everyone’s confusion. Then he opened his mouth and spewed out a limerick:

“There once was a man from madras/Whose balls were made of brass!”

_In the background Moenbryda let out a shrieking cackle._

“In stormy weather/they clang together!”

_Y’shtola face-palmed while Thancred was laughing in drunken disbelief._

“AND SPARKS FLY OUT OF HIS ASS!”

D’arshan yowled in outrage when Y’shtola yanked him down.

“And methinks we are done,” the other Sun Seeker said, dragging him away by the back of his shirt. He made desperate grabby hands at F’lhaminn who only waved good-bye to him. He whined.

“Boo! Boo! We want another!” Moenbryda demanded, laughing as Thancred toppled over into her lap.

“I can’t believe it,” Hoary Boulder wept. “He’s the Warrior of Light! But he just…”

Coultenet sighed and mechanically patted his partner on the shoulder. “There, there,” he said in attempted comfort. It didn’t fly considering his deadpan voice. Hoary Boulder only wept harder into his ale.

* * *

** Up High, Down Low **

Alphinaud propped his fists on his hips, face flushed. “D’arshan, get down here!” he hollered. He stamped his foot. “We have a meeting with potential recruits!”

Hanging upside down from a tree branch. D’arshan swung, his knees hooked over the sturdy limb. “You’ll have to come and get me, Alphi!” He laughed.

“How did you know that nickname?!”

“Oh ho, that’s your nickname? How cute! Little Alphi-walphi!”

The teenager made an angry noise, like a tea kettle at boil. “Do not call me that!” He jabbed a finger down to gesture toward the ground. “Get down!”

“Nuh-uh. Make me!”

Alphinaud gasped with outrage. “I cannot believe you!” He stomped over to the trunk of the tree. The elezen attempted to scramble for the lowest branch. Huffing and puffing, his face turned red from the effort. He wheezed when he finally made it onto the branch. He desperately hugged the tree trunk. Sweat dripped down his face. But then he looked up only to see D’arshan was even higher than before. “NO!”

D’arshan danced along the tree limb on nimble feet. His tail was high and curled happily. “Oops, too slow~!” he sang. He flipped to do a handstand, nearly causing Alphinaud to have a heart attack. The boy clutched at his chest in horror. “You’ll have to be faster than that, sweetheart!”

Sweating and trembling, Alphinaud glanced down then up. He grit his teeth, swore under his breath, and began to climb again. One branch. Two branch. Up and up. Finally he was on the same level as the miqo’te though on a different branch all together. But the tree limbs were slimmer than the ones below. D’arshan, grinning, was squatting on his without care.

“There you are,” D’arshan cooed. “Look at you, so high up all by yourself.”

“Be quiet!” There was a faint wobble to Alphinaud’s voice. But the elezen didn’t notice the concern flash across his companion’s face, the smile fading to a frown. Instead he was nervously glancing down. He clung to the trunk. “I… I’ve never been t-t-this high before… with… without an airship.” His elfin ears were droopy from exhaustion. He sniffled.

“Okay… game’s over then,” D’arshan said gently. “Stay there, okay? I’ll come get you and we’ll go down together.” He crept across the branches between them. “Stop looking down, kiddo.”

“I… I can’t! I’m scared.”

“Oh baby honey, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I thought you’d be fine.” He crooned. “Look at me, Alphinaud. Come on, eyes on me.” Alphinaud looked at him, blue eyes wet. “That’s right, just look at me. Only me, okay?” D’arshan stopped and lowered himself a little next to the elezen’s perch, feet on a couple of branches right below. His left hand curled around the other’s tree limb, arm stretched out. His right was dug into the bark of the trunk. His thick biceps twitched. “Onto my back, sweetheart.”

“I can’t!” Alphinaud wailed.

“You can, baby boy, you can. You’re doing so good. Come on.” D’arshan grunted as Alphinaud crawled over and down. The young elezen teen wrapped his arms around his shoulders, thighs clutching at his waist. “Hold on, I got you.” The miqo’te reached back to shove his forearm under his bottom. “Okay. Here we go.” Slow and steady, with his passenger’s face buried in the crook of his neck, D’arshan climbed down. All the while he crooned comforting words to him, praises and encouragement. Alphinaud whimpered with each jolt as they landed on the next branch below.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, D’arshan made it to the ground. He collapsed to his knees and carefully tried to slide Alphinaud down his back. But he made a noise of distress and clung tighter. “Okay… okay.” Since that wasn’t an option, instead D’arshan gently moved him so the elezen was clinging to his front. He wrapped his arms around the trembling teen. “We’re down, we’re down, we’re down. Good job, babe.” The miqo’te leaned against the base of the tree.

“Don’t do that again,” Alphinaud said against D’arshan’s throat where he had buried his face. His fingers dug into the other’s shoulders. “That wasn’t nice.” He made a soft noise as his body was moved so that he was settled onto the other’s lap instead of kneeling between heavily muscled thighs. “You’re so… mean…” Strong arms were curled around his shoulders and tucked under his knees, holding him close.

D’arshan laid his cheek against that crown of white hair. The scent of sweat, fear, and lavender tickled his nose. The guilt grew. “You’re right, that was very mean of me. I’m so sorry. No more climbing games.” He rubbed his cheek against his soft hair. “We’ll just play some Triple Triad instead, huh? How about we rest here for a bit? And tomorrow we can go recruiting in Gridania.” He still didn’t like the idea of this new organization but he would do whatever the elezen wanted from now on. He owed it for this latest scare. He felt like a complete shithead. “I’ll keep watch, eh?”

Alphinaud let out an exhausted affirmative and dozed off, his head tucked under D’arshan’s jaw. D’arshan let his head fall back against the tree. As the morning transitioned into afternoon, the duo rested, safely tucked away just beyond Blue Badger Gate beneath the dappled summer sunlight.

* * *

** Cake, Cake, Cake! **

Slowly, carefully, D’arshan piped a curved line of decorative icing along the frosted edge of the two-tier cake. The tip of his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth, his brows furrowed in concentration. The gold colored icing was bright against the white frosting. As a finishing touch, he put golden candy pearls in regular intervals along the sides. With a tap, he set down his piping bag. He stepped back to admire the cake. He never noticed the smear of frosting on his cheek and forehead. Or the pap of icing on his tunic collar. Or the streak of icing in his hair. But the cake was pristine perfection!

“Holy hells! What happened to the kitchen?” Arenvald stumbled into the kitchen, gaping in horror. “Is that batter on the ceiling?! How?!” A’aba whistled at the enormous mess.

Blinking, D’arshan looked up. “How in the world?” he said slowly.

“That’s what we would like to know,” Aulie said, laughter in her eyes.

“I don’t know.” D’arshan smiled at them. The trio stared at him for a long moment. Batter dripped down from the ceiling onto the floor with a wet plop. “Sooooo…. Who wants some cake?”

A’aba, Arenvald, and Aulie eagerly accepted a big slice of cake each, now uncaring of the mess their fellow Scion had made of the kitchen. Sweet vanilla cake and almond flavored icing were stuffed into their mouths with glee. The perfect cake was decimated, the top tier completely gone and the bottom half gone.

But then Y’shtola walked in and screamed. “D’ARSHAN! NOT AGAIN!” She dove at him for a strangling. D’arshan shoved one last mouthful into his face, ducking under her grasping hands. The other three watched from the side as the woman chased him around the kitchen island. They both bellowed as they slipped on wet batter. Then wrestling ensued as Y’shtola attempted to yank D’arshan’s ears off in a snit. Clothes were ruined, covered in cake flour and batter, as they rolled around on the floor.

Cake and a show, nice.

* * *

** End Interludes **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Toss a kudos or comment my way if you like. Bye-bye!


	7. Stop, Drop, Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shell-shocked D'arshan and the aftermath of meeting his first primal. 
> 
> You never forget your first...
> 
> Chapter Specific Tags: Violence, blood, mentions of PTSD episodes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the nightmare born from fighting a primal. Hang on to yer booty.

* * *

It always begins with fire and screams…

* * *

_Flames dancing, voices crying out in fear and exultation, the scrape of giant claws._

_Unimaginable heat, sweat pouring from every inch of skin._

_The guttural voice of a towering god summoned from crystal and aether._

_Standing alone before a monstrosity made flesh. But wait… there are three others, minds untouched like yours. Sword and shield. Staff and cowl. Cane and white robes. _

_Only two options now: lay down to die without a fight or make death proud to take you as you go down swinging._

_There is no choice in that. You will not go gentle into that good night. _

_Bow up at the ready. Shaky breath. _

_Aether swirls, ice readied on trembling fingertips. _

_A call to the elements, a request for aid to be rendered hovering upon tight pressed lips._

_Shield up, sword out. Barely steady, fear flowing through veins._

_Charge!_

_ A quick strum of harp strings at the hip. Aetheric chains hold the god down for a few precious seconds. A sword edge finds a joint. Severs a finger. An arrow buries itself into the opposite arm. Ice splashes on a corded chest, followed by stone. _

_The god howls in pain and rage. Lava like blood flows._

_Shield up! Shield up! Claws rake across metal, sizzling lines left in their wake. Boots skid back, furrows left in the dirt. _

_Brace! And another strike, it shakes down to the bones. Agony is soothed by gentle aether, channeled through a cane of white oak and emerald gem. Shake it off, take another hit. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts! Do not give in to the pain. _

_Keep going._

_On light feet, dash around to the side. Nock an arrow. Let it fly. The arrowhead is buried deep. _

_Sandals slap against the earth to the other side, ice flung sharp and bright. Godly flesh sizzles._

_A circle of flame blooms across the battlefield, there is no dodging it. _

_They scream and scream and scream. Burns decorate their flesh. Frantically the cane weaves a spell of healing light. They get up. They keep fighting. _

_Do not go gently into death, struggle against Nald’Thal’s embrace for one more moment._

_But then… but then…_

_The thaurmaturge falls first, blasting off one last ice spell. Flesh and cloth burns away. Charred bone and wood is left behind. The conjurer wails, desperately and uselessly attempts to revive them. An arm wraps around their middle to pull them away from another blast of scorching heat. The gladiator charges to draw attention away from the archer and remaining mage. One sword strike turns into two turns into three. But enormous claws finally cleaves their shield, rakes through their chest plate and scrapes their heart to pieces. They fall slow, first to their knees and then face down. Gurgling. Choking. The last breath exiting shredded lungs. So too is the flesh burned away, soot stained armor and charred bones. Then only two remain._

_The god laughs, stalking forward._

_The archer throws away his crumbling bow. Rips off his empty quiver. Draws his daggers from their holsters, raises them to the ready. The conjurer shakily raises their cane up, having gulped down their last ether potion. They are tired. So tired. _

_Dash forward, leap up, double strike down. Gouge out a god’s eye. Scream. Plant booted feet against the side of that reptilian face. Thigh muscles flex and bunch, using the god’s face as a platform to push off from into a flip away. Land, knees bending, boots sliding back. _

_Healing magic rains down, soothing hurts and burns. Roll under swinging claws. Strike again, quick like a snake, sink in stabbing fangs clutched in shaking hands. Keep the god away from the healer._

_The now rogue is the last barrier, the last shield without an actual shield. If he falls, so does the conjurer, his last companion in this fiery nightmare. _

_Unacceptable._

_Duck and weave, leave a dagger stabbed into a god’s gut. Climb a fiery torso, nails biting into aetheric flesh. Stab the jugular, dig it in deeper and deeper. Bite down with his actual mouth, short fangs piercing into skin and muscle and hot blood burning his tongue. Pull away and spit it out. Roars back as he stabs down again and again and again. The dagger bites deep. Bleed it dry._

_The god falls beneath the final frenzy. The flames ringing the battlefield sputter out. _

_Covered in soot and a god’s blood and his own blood, he staggers away from the fading deity. Ifrit disappears into aether, no more upon the mortal plane. His last dagger falls from his hand. He grunts as the conjurer throws their arms around his middle, weeping. Hug back, cling as they fall to their knees. _

_A beastman charges at them, bellowing. But a flung dagger finds its mark. A blur with white hair finishes off the beastman, followed by men dressed in Ul’dahn colors. The cavalry._

_And then it all fades to black…_

* * *

D’arshan screamed himself awake, thrashing in his bed. He clawed at his face and hair, short nails drawing drops of blood. Slim hands tugged at his wrists. He struggled against the hold, wailing. His eyes rolled in his head.

“Baby! Baby, you have to stop!” D’ayaza jerked back from snapping teeth. “Arshan!” The younger miqo’te froze. His eyes focused on the woman above him. His ears folded back, tears flowing from his eyes. “There you are, my baby. Shhh.” Gingerly she sat on the edge of the bed. She wiped away the little streaks of blood from where he had scratched his face. “I’m here.”

“Mummy…” Arshan whimpered. He sat up only to bury his face down into his mother lap. He wept.

In the darkened room, Ayaza bent over her son’s back, as if shielding him from a blow. Her arms were around him. She rocked her boy from side to side, crooning soft sounds of comfort. Her hands stroked his ears and the back of his heaving shoulders.

Tomorrow, Ayaza was going to take him to the Conjurers’ Guild. Not only to visit his still recovering fellow survivor, but also for healing. He needed help with the nightmares. Come hell or high water, as his mother, she was going to get it for him. For both of them. The poor girl who had fight by his side and survived was surely suffering from the same.

And after? These Scions of the Seventh Dawn were going to answer her questions.

Or else.

* * *

The moons after surviving Ifrit, D’arshan struggled. He struggled with nightmares. He struggled with his concentration. He struggled with even lacing his own boots some days. Every day seemed like agony. Often his mother had to seek him out in the treetops in various places in the city where he had hid himself after an episode of blanking out.

D’arshan vaguely remembered shoving his linkpearl from Minfillia into Thancred’s mouth and telling him to fuck off. He also remembered taking the bones of his fallen comrades back to their respective guilds; the Coco brothers’ solemn thanks and the First Sword’s wailing denial. He had carried on his back the tired viera conjurer, Brynja, to Gridania on foot to an eternally grateful E-Sumi-Yan. He didn’t even remember coming through the city gates. And from there, the miqo’te had stumbled into the Leatherworkers’ Guild, still covered in soot and dried blood. He stank of brimstone. He had fallen to the floor, weeping at his mother’s feet. The panic that had caused throughout the whole guild… it was a complete cacophony.

Even Geva had panicked, bellowing for bandages and demanding a conjurer. There was still a stain in the middle of the first floor of the guildhall where he had curled up. The carpenters were going to have to completely replace the floor. Geva wasn’t even mad about it.

But the regular sessions with Master E-Sumi began to slowly ease the nightmares. There was meditation time with Brynja every day, listening to the sound of her breathing. She’s alive, she’s alive. He saved her. Saving one life is better than saving none. Sometimes they climbed trees together and spoke of easy things. Being a salve-maker in the Wood. Hunting dodos for meat around Limsa.

D’arshan also sat in for a few conjury lessons on the side with the novices, desperate to know at least a cure spell.

The miqo’te religiously avoided Papalymo and Yda whenever he spotted them in Gridania. He wasn’t ready yet. Rumor said that his mother had no problems running into the two Scions and taking a swing at them before the Wood Wailers escorted the duo away from her fists, a few Quivermen holding her back. The Gridanians had closed ranks actually. They kept D’arshan shielded against being found. He supposed the people of the city had finally adopted D’ayaza and D’arshan as their own, as a leatherworker and a member of the Archers’ Guild. Even affable Leih hustled him into the trees whenever they passed by.

More weeks passed in the quiet of the forested city.

But it was Silvairre who had finally managed to convince D’arshan to leave the city proper for the surrounding woods of the Shroud. Poking and prodding, the elezen had shoved him out of the guild and past the gate. All the while he complained about doing so. Not that he stopped.

After a week of tracking down and arresting poachers, D’arshan felt at ease with a bow again. Silvairre’s surprisingly gentle remedial lessons sunk into his brain. He had even met Jehantel, doing some singing lessons with the older elezen. Silvairre gamely hid his rolling eyes. But he also stayed with them for the first few lessons before dragging D’arshan back at week’s end. He did congratulate D’arshan on earning his Bard Soul Stone as they left the South Shroud behind.

Slowly and steadily, D’arshan healed as much as he could. The crack in his heart began to scab over and seal up. The nightmares were manageable now, mostly gone even except on a few occasions. According to E-Sumi, they wouldn’t ever be permanently gone. But that was fine. Now D’arshan could deal. He stopped waking up screaming. He no longer felt the heat of Ifrit’s flames during random waking moments. Though he still avoided big hearths and flamed tipped torches higher than his head. Campfires were fine at the very least, thank the Twelve.

It was time to return to the Waking Sands. D’arshan wanted answers.

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not get used to these rapid fire updates. I'm surprised I've gotten the urge to write so much since I'm not participating in Nano. 
> 
> Anywho, tap that kudos button or leave a comment if you like. Thanks for reading!


	8. Return to the Waking Sands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which D'arshan comes back to the Scions, learns of the fates of those Tempered by a primal, and promptly loses his cool. And yet, when it comes down to it, he stays. For better or worse.
> 
> Chapter Specific Tags: sadness, serious fighting, silly water fights, and shenanigans, implied sexual situations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (And D'arshan might have also propositioned a rogue with a conjurer for a threesome...) 
> 
> >;3c
> 
> 000

* * *

Ayaza looked down to see what her fingers were doing. Her slim, work roughened digits deftly adjusted the straps of the high quality toadskin armguards. Her folded back ears conveyed her frustration. She smoothed her palm over the inner part of his covered wrist. She looked up into the pale green eyes of her son. “I don’t like it,” she said, breaking her sullen silence.

“I know,” Arshan replied, his voice so soft. “I know but I have to go back.” The older miqo’te lashed her tail, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “Mama, I promised. I just… needed to get my head on straight.”

“And your nightmares?”

He looked away, flicking his ears. “I’ll deal with them,” Arshan said. It wasn’t reassuring. “I have to. Guildmaster E-Sumi said they would never leave. But if I keep up my meditations, I’ll be able to handle them.”

“I don’t like it,” Ayaza repeated. She pressed her hand over his toad leather covered chest above his heart. “I don’t know what I would do if this stopped beating.”

“Raise hell, probably.” He gently bunted his head against hers as he bent his neck down. “Ma, I can’t hide here forever.” He covered her hand with his own on his chest. “We do not run from our troubles, remember? Besides, look at all this toad leather you’ve covered me in! In my favorite shade of hunter green!” He spread his arms wide, much to her amusement. “It’s beautifully made, thank you.”

“Hmph! Of course it’s beautifully made! I made it!” Ayaza reached up to cup his face with her hands. “My son, be cautious. I just wish you would take Brynja with you.”

“No! No. Brynja has no desire to leave the Twelveswood for a long time. And considering what happened when she was outside of the Shroud, I don’t blame her. Teaching the novices in the Conjurers’ Guild suits her anyway.” Arshan shook his head. “A Viera stays in her Wood, she said. And she’s claimed the Shroud as her new Wood. So yeah, not happening.”

“I don’t blame her either. I just wish you’d have a healer with you.” She huffed and gave him a little shove. “Go on, then. Grab your daggers and get your arse to Vesper Bay.” Ayaza laughed when he gave her a silly courtly bow. “Call me by linkpearl when you arrive, please.”

Arshan nodded, wiggling his ear that had the linkpearl in it. “Yes, mom.”

“And make sure to punch Mr. Waters in the head for me.”

“Ma, no.”

“Ma, yes.”

“It’s not his fault that it escalated like that.”

“I don’t care. Punch everyone in that organization.”

“Ma, no!”

* * *

D’arshan crossed his arms after hearing Minfilia’s explanation on why he and the others he had fought with hadn’t been Tempered. His ears were drooped as he thought. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Minfilia wringing her hands while the others shifted in discomfort. He sighed. “So the Echo saved us from being slaves to a god. Okay, fine. Great even,” he said. “But what happened to the others captured who were Tempered?”

“I…” Minfilia fell silent, eyes downcast. “Tempering is… irreversible.”

Pale green eyes slowly fell shut in a prolonged blink. D’arshan tightened his grip on his biceps. “Is that right?” he said lowly. The implications were horrifying. He narrowed his eyes. “But please elaborate, if you could.” He wanted it said clearly.

“Allow me,” Thancred piped in, voice cracking. He stepped forward away from the solar’s bookshelves. The hyuran man cleared his throat. “Those who end up Tempered cannot be freed from a primal’s influence. And the more worshippers a primal has, the stronger they are when summoned. And those Tempered will do anything to see the primal brought back to this plane.” He paused, his full lips pursed. “And so there is no choice but to…” Thancred choked, his face twisting. “They are put down.”

“Like rabid dogs,” the miqo’te hissed. “Has there not been research done on Tempering? How is it that there isn’t way-!” He cut himself off, slashing his hand through the air. “I suppose scholars like yourselves have already looked into it.” Spinning on his heel, he wrapped his arms around his belly. “I need to go.” He stomped out of the solar.

“D’arshan, wait!” Y’shtola hurried after him. Thancred followed. The door slammed closed behind them.

“That went poorly,” Papalymo said in the echoing silence. He adjusted his monocle. “But it is best he learned the truth. Now he knows there is no saving a Tempered unless they are released back into the Lifestream.” The lalafell rubbed the back of his neck. “Now he knows how important it is to put down the primal threat. And with the Echo, he is one the few able to stand up to a primal without having his mind stolen. He has a duty.”

“It’s cruel,” Yda said. “Papalymo, that’s so cruel.” She pounded her fist into the palm of her other hand. “We’re supposed to be a family! We’re in this together!”

“Ours is a duty most foul,” Urianger said. “We must needs band together, as we hath always done.”

“But will he stay?” Minfilia asked, arms crossed. She tilted her head in thought. “We cannot keep him here if he does not wish to stay. But his Echo… it’s the strongest I’ve ever seen.” The blonde highlander raised her gaze to the ceiling. “Oh Master Louisoix, what are we to do?”

* * *

Tataru squealed as D’arshan flew past her in a rage. She gaped at the sight of Y’shtola and Thancred giving chase. She wrung her hands together. The little secretary bit her lower lip.

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.”

* * *

D’arshan ran past the statue of Lolorito and into the swampland between Vesper Bay and Horizon. Whirling around, he faced the two Scions chasing him. “You!” He charged and tackled Thancred. The hyur shouted as they splashed into the water. Y’shtola stumbled away, back smacking against a ruined pillar. A wave of water splashed up the front of her tunic. She yowled and flung an ice spell at the two men. But due to the water in her eyes, she missed.

Thancred, though he was older and more experienced, found himself losing. Spectacularly. Then again, he was struggling with a man who had brought down a primal. Choking from having his tunic pulled too tight, he felt his body lift up and slam against a stone wall remnant. He gasped as he was slammed again. “Stop! D’arshan, stop!” He uselessly clawed at well-crafted toadskin armguards. His feet kicked but only met air. He could see red seeping into those wide, pale irises. “You…!”

Y’shtola leapt onto the other miqo’te’s back. “Marauder, stand down!” she screamed. “STAND DOWN!” She had seen such rages before during her time in Limsa Lominsa. Thankfully they were far enough from the causeway between Horizon and Vesper to be easily ignored by the indifferent Brass Blades and any passersby.

“ARSHAN!” Thancred bellowed. “Please!”

And, as if waking from a dream, D’arshan blinked away the seeping red rage. He looked up to see that he was pressed the other man hard against the stone. His hands were fisted in his tunic. He could feel the weight of the conjurer on his back clinging to his shoulders. “Thancred?” he said in a wobbly voice. Shakily he lowered him so his feet could touch the swamp bottom. But he didn’t let go. Instead, D’arshan sobbed and leaned in to bury his face against Thancred’s shoulder. Y’shtola slipped down and hugged him around his waist from behind. Her forehead nestled between his shoulder blades despite how sopping the tunic was against her already soaked top. He was pressed between them, wet and tired. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry…”

Panting and aching, Thancred wrapped his arms around his heaving shoulders. “So am I, my friend.” He pressed his cheek to the soft blue and red hair on D’arshan’s head. “I’m so sorry. If there was another way, we would use it. We would use it.” He hugged tighter as he felt the other man clutch at his back. “Forgive me. I have failed you.”

D’arshan shook his head against his shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” he said, voice muffled against the wet cotton. “It’s no one’s fault but that damned Ifrit.”

“So it is,” Y’shtola said tiredly. “That is why we fight. For those we can yet save.”

“For those we can yet save…” D’arshan said as he turned his head, his temple cradled in the crook of Thancred’s shoulder. “I’m scared,” he confessed. “But against a primal… I’m one of the few who can stand against one…”

“Unfortunately, ‘tis true.” The hyur holding him huffed a sigh against his forehead. “And your Brynja is not going to be leaving Gridania, as you said earlier. And so the number of Echo users among us stays low. Minfillia cannot be on the battlefield. And Arenvald is too inexperienced and unsure.”

“Options are few. Yeah, I get it. Fuck me. I don’t wanna.” He tilted his nose up, the tip brushing against the taller man’s jawline. “Thancred, this sucks.” D’arshan felt Y’shtola laugh with only a hint of bitterness in the sound.

“Hmph. Well, we won’t be fighting anything like this,” Thancred said. “Come back to the Waking Sands to get changed before we all catch a cold or worse. Swamp water is not the cleanest thing.” He tweaked the tip of one of his ears.

“Oi! Excuse me, do not!” D’arshan peeled himself away, the very picture of offended wet cat.

“Then let’s go.” Y’shtola wrung out the front of her tunic. She sniffed. “I cannot believe you. This is very stinky water. Tis your fault that I am soaked to the bone.”

“Hey, you didn’t have to hug me!”

“You splashed me!”

“Did not! And don’t think I don’t remember you shooting ice at us!”

Thancred hid a laugh behind his hand as he followed after the two arguing miqo’te. A soft, sad smile crossed his face. “Oh Louisoix, I have to do better. You would have never allowed this to happen.” He shook his head as D’arshan and Y’shtola nearly ran over a merchant in their haste. “Ridiculous. I never realized she could be so childish.” He guffawed when the woman shoved their newest Scion over the edge of the pathway back into the water. He kept laughing as D’arshan surged out of the water and yanked her in with him. Her shriek startled the chocobo train passing by. Caravan drivers shouted, finding themselves suddenly sprinting down the causeway. “Gods be good. You two! Stop-!”

The rogue flailed as he was pulled into the shallow water with a loud splash.

* * *

Slosh. Slosh. Slosh.

Tataru screeched as a trio of soaking wet swamp monsters clomped into headquarters. “What happened?!” she cried.

“She/He did it!” three different voices shouted, fingers pointed.

The lalafell scrambled to pull a broom out of a cabinet. “Shoo! Shoo! Baths, all of you! Get out of my lobby!” She hit them with the broom with each word. “Out! Out! Out!” She chased them down the stairs. “BATHS! NOW! Oh no, my rugs!”

* * *

Urianger shoved his goggles up at the sight that rushed past him. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again. “Are mine eyes not working?” he wondered aloud. Surely that had not been a sopping Y’shtola slung over an equally wet Thancred’s shoulder and a soaked D’arshan held under the hyur’s other arm like a playball. He looked down and huffed at the trail of water left in their wake. The elezen pulled his goggles back down over his eyes. “Madness. Tis madness. Now I must needs find a mop.” He huffed and sailed off to the supplies closet.

He kept grumbling to himself the entire time.

* * *

“They’re back?” Minfilia said, eyes lighting up. She furrowed her brows when Yda giggled. “What is it?”

“Apparently they went for a swim!” Papalymo announced with exasperation. “There is smelly swamp water everywhere!” He waved his arms around and ranted, stomping around in the solar. “-even Y’shtola was dripping! All over the floor!”

Minfilia covered her mouth with her hands. Her blue eyes curved as she laughed. She leaned against the openly cackling Yda, her shoulders shaking. Before them Papalymo had launched into a frothing diatribe, his adorable round face flushed red. The women laughed harder. The Antecedent was now clutching at her pugilist friend, laughter no longer muffled.

“It’s not funny! I slipped in the water!” The lalafell man stamped his feet. Yda howled a shrieking laugh, dragging Minfilia to the floor. “Stop laughing! My robes are wet!” And it was true, the back of his robes were wet. He had fallen right on his back. And his blond hair was slicked in a swoop from the nape of his neck and up.

“You should have seen it! He went flying!”

“No! Don’t tell her!”

“HE SCREAMED, MIN, LIKE AN ANGRY BABY OPO-OPO!”

“YDA!”

* * *

In the communal bathing room, and oblivious to the chaos they had left behind, D’arshan, Thancred, and Y’shtola washed next to the large tub they would soak in after washing. Thancred eyed the lovely skin on display for a quick moment but went back to scrubbing mud from his fingernails. “Well, we were certainly a mess,” he said. He grinned. “I don’t think I’ve seen you play like that since we were still in Sharlayan, Shtola.”

“Stress relief, I think,” Y’shtola replied, combing her fingers through her tail fur. “Besides, you needed a good dunking.” She nudged at D’arshan. “You have a temper most foul.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that.” D’arshan dunked his head to wash out the shampoo. The slightly longer hair at his temple was retied into his normal triad of D tribe braids. “Guildmaster E-Sumi still scolds me about it when meditation time doesn’t go right. Ever since Ifrit, I’ve been more hair trigger.”

Thancred winced. “I see. Well, at least you are trying, aye. Meditation time?” He rubbed a washing cloth over his chest.

“Yeah, I’ve been hanging out at the Conjurers’ Guild with Brynja.” The miqo’te untangled a knot near the tip of his tail. “It’s been good for me and helped with keeping the nightmares mostly under control.”

“A fine idea,” Y’shtola said. She shook her head, her ears swaying. “Tub?” Together the three climbed into the steaming water. She stretched and sighed. “Ah… lovely.” She made a noise when Thancred grabbed her foot to massage it. “Thank you.”

“There are many ways to relief stress,” Thancred murmured, his clever fingers digging into her arch much to his compatriot’s pleasure. She sunk a little deeper into the hot water.

“By the way, according to my mother, I owe you a punch to the head, Waters.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Don’t worry. I think I’ve roughed you up enough.” D’arshan playfully elbowed him. “I’ll just tell her I did it and not actually do it.”

“My thanks,” Thancred deadpanned. He switched to Y’shtola’s other foot. “What else do you do to relief stress?”

“Hmm? I don’t know. Wank it out?”

“Crude,” the woman of the trio mumbled. Her ears flicked. “Do you actually do that?” She peeked open an eye to stare at him.

D’arshan shrugged. “Sometimes. Or I just climb trees. Depends.” He flicked water at the only hyur. He grinned when the man snapped his blunt teeth at him. “I don’t wank often.”

“This is a very inappropriate subject.” Thancred grunted when Y’shtola shoved her heel into his gut. “What?”

“As a bed hopping miscreant, you have no room to talk.”

“Bed hopping miscreant? Oh yeah? Do tell.”

“Absolutely not! Shtola, no!”

“Our Thancred is very popular with the ladies…”

“Yeah, yeah. I can see why. He’s very pretty.”

“Pre--! I am not pretty!”

“Don’t worry, you’re the prettiest princess, Thancred,” D’arshan crooned. He laughed when Thancred splashed at him.

“And apparently he can hold his breath for ten minutes.”

“No way! Nice.”

“Stop waggling your eyebrows at me, D’arshan!”

D’arshan laughed, ducking under the washing cloth thrown at his head. He glided through the water to press against the other man’s side. “So if I asked you right now if you could hold your breath for that long, would you show us?” he asked, a flash of fang in his smile.

Sputtering, Thancred dropped the laughing Y’shtola’s foot. “Are you flirting with me?” he asked in a high voice.

“What’s the matter, my friend? Cannot handle it? How unusual for you.” Y’shtola stood up, water flowing off of her body. Her wet tail swished. “What a shame. Another time then. Come, D’arshan. We should dry ourselves.” The two miqo’te clambered out of the tub and dried one another. She looked over her shoulder at the still gaping Thancred. “Don’t stay too long in the water.” She shimmied into a new set of clothes. “D’arshan?”

“Yup, coming. Bye, Thancred!” D’arshan, now dressed in a clean soft tunic and breeches, leaned over the tub to buss him on the cheek. He scooped up his dirty clothes in a laundry bag, boots held in the other hand. He followed after Y’shtola at a trot.

“Did that… just happen?” Thancred asked the empty bathing room. His face was hot, a blush bright on his cheeks. He sunk lower in the now cooling water. “Holy hells, that just happened.” And then he cursed, scrambling out of the tub. That HAD happened and then the opportunity had slipped right through his fingers. “Damnation!”

Who knew when he would get propositioned in such a manner by those two again? Considering how busy they were, something told him it wouldn’t be happening any time soon. And what a ‘surprise’, when a few weeks later, news about Ramuh and the sylphs came in from Gridania.

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading! This fic, just an fyi, will not become NSFW. Any D'arshan lemons will be posted separately and not just in the What-If scenarios collection. But nothing wrong with... implications though. Wink-wonk. They're adults, they are allowed. Tap that kudos or leave a comment if you like. Ta!


	9. Interlude 10: A Company Most Grand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was like watching a tennis match, the visiting captains arguing like children over a ball. Please get out of the solar...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder! Sexy times will not happen in this fic! That implied threesome never happened. It was a tease to mess with Thancred. (I think this is why I lost a subscriber? Idk, thanks for hanging out with us anyway! Stay frosty!) This has been a PSA. 
> 
> Love you! Enjoy this interlude!

* * *

“A Grand Company?” D’arshan glanced at the hopeful captains who had barged into the solar. The only one he recognized was Captain Arthremont of the Twin Adders who sheepishly waved at him. He looked back at the head of the Scions. “You cannot be serious. I’m just one guy! I don’t get it!”

“By joining one, you would have no shortage of allies to watch your back whilst out in the field,” Minfilia said. “Many are the people who would take a chance to prove themselves against a primal slayer, mayhap even kill you for the glory. And by adding your name to their roster, a Grand Company earns themselves honors by having the slayer of Ifrit among their number.”

“Charming.” The miqo’te rubbed the back of his neck. “This sounds like a terrible idea…”

“If I may?” Captain Arthremont shuffled forward. “Perhaps you could visit each city-state for the remembrance ceremonies and listen to our esteemed leaders?” The other captains made agreeing noises at the idea. “But my friend, know this. You will always be welcome in Gridania at any capacity. The Wood shall ever be your home whenever you wish.”

“Now see here!” The Maelstrom captain shoved the elezen aside. “As the city-state that hosted your entrance into the adventurer’s life, you will always be welcome in Limsa Lominsa! You have done great services for our fair home upon the sea and as such the Admiral would love to have you on her crew and together we will make Limsa shine all the brighter!”

“WAIT A MINUTE!” This time the Flame captain wriggled between the other two captains. “He is a son of Thanalan, I say! He was raised among its sands! The Immortal Flames would be more than happy to welcome him back!” He swung his head around to stare at D’arshan. “Know this, friend! Ul’dah’s embrace awaits you among the Immortal Flames!”

The three began to squabble, voices rising.

D’arshan exchanged looks with Minfilia. She smiled weakly at him and shrugged. He sighed. Putting his fingers in his mouth, he let out a shrill whistle that sounded over the arguing. The captains fell silent, staring at him. “Shut the hell up, please,” he said tiredly. “Holy shit, you’re adults, aren’t you?” They shuffled their feet in embarrassment. “Captain Arthremont has the right idea. I’ll go and listen to the remembrance ceremonies to hear what your leaders have to say.” He held up a hand before they could speak. “And then I’ll think about it and decide afterward which company to join. That sound good?” The trio rapidly agreed with bobbing nods and excited hand gestures. “Oookay, right. When’s the first one?”

“Three days from now,” Tataru said from next to his knee. She beamed up at him when he looked down at her. “In Gridania. Then the day after that is Limsa Lominsa, and then Ul’dah the day after Limsa’s ceremony.”

“So I’ll have to teleport. A lot.” D’arshan huffed. “Right. I’ll see you guys in five days. Don’t be nuisances to Minfilia and the others while I’m gone.”

“What are you doing the three days before Gridania’s?” Minfilia asked.

“I need to finish up a few things at the Lancers’ Guild and visit Jehantel. See ya!” The miqo’te hurried out of the solar. He had escaped like the hounds of the seven hells were on his heels.

Minfilia looked at the still smiling Tataru and then at the Grand Company captains clogging up her solar. “We’ll just find you rooms, I suppose. At the inn?” Anything to get them out…

“I’ll book them rooms!” Tataru led the three men out.

Slumping her shoulders, the hyuran woman sank down into her chair. “Noisy…” She cradled her head in her hands. “If it’s not one thing, it’s another.” She sighed. “Oh, what a mess.”

* * *

**END Interlude**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you like, please leave a kudos or a comment! Have an awesome day, loves!


	10. First Prelude to Titan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter snows and forest caverns deep. Meeting an Ishgardian lord. Chasing down leads for his mission. Losing his temper again. It was just another week for D'arshan, really. Garleans and traitors and giant spider-scorpion things? Not that usual. At least, not at this point of his life as a Scion of the Seventh Dawn. 
> 
> This is just the first breath before the fall...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My fingers have been flying across my keyboard. From my Tilly oneshots to this newest chapter! Please enjoy!

* * *

The chill of Coerthas was as opposite of the heat of Thanalan as one could get. It was enough to pierce right through the ill-prepared. And D’arshan was very ill-prepared. His thin coat was no match for what passed for mild weather in these harsh highlands. The desert child took his scarf and wrapped it around his head and over his mouth like some strange balaclava. He wrapped his tail around his waist, pulling his hem of his jacket over the fluffy blue fur. But he still had a ways to go before he would reach this Alberic the dragoon.

Ywain owed him big time for this!

A highland goobue trudged near with loud clomps that sounded clear even with the snow. D’arshan pressed himself against the freezing stone of a rock wall to let the creature pass. The cold of the rock threatened to undo him and he pulled away in haste. He cursed before continuing his journey.

The miqo’te wished for his chocobo companion desperately. But poor Aveza had twisted her ankle three days ago and was recuperating at the Treespeak Stables without him. So he was destined to travel alone until she healed. And he could not begrudge her time doing so. For better or worse, D’arshan love his chocobo too much. The guilt of pushing her to run faster so that they could flee a contingent of Ixali still swirled in his mind. He should have stood his ground. He should have just slaughtered the offending lot...

“There’ll be no mercy from me next time,” D’arshan promised to himself behind his scarf. On his back his spear rattled in its harness with his movement.

“YAARRGH!” A man burst from around the bend uphill, charging at D’arshan with bared steel. Two others, screaming, were right behind him with swords also raised.

“Seriously?” The miqo’te lancer took his spear from his back. His feet spread into a ready stance, hands gripping the shaft of his weapon with ease despite his mittens. “Fine.” He launched himself forward. His spear swept out the feet from under the first attacker and he used the momentum to fling the fool away. They slammed against the rock wall with a sickening crack and landed with a thump. They did not get up. D’arshan went for the next, dodging around swinging swords. He spun his lance to ward off another blade. He sunk his spearhead into the gut of one and held up his bracer covered forearm to block a strike from his target’s remaining companion. Spinning around, he planted his boot against the chest of the second as leverage to free his spear. It came away with a wet squelch. The spearhead arced through the air and grazed the face of the third attacker.

Blood, bright as the rubies dangling from D’arshan’s ears, splattered across the white snow.

The once speared through person fell to their knees before thumping face down onto the snow. More blood, steaming as it met the snow, spread in a puddle of crimson slush beneath them. The last living assailant screamed an animalistic sound. They flung themselves at their poorly picked target. But in their grief, they ran straight onto the spear, the pointed blade popping out the other side of their torso. They gurgled, hands scrambling uselessly at the spear shaft having dropped their sword. The last thing they saw before hitting the rock wall behind their target was a blur of blood stained snow as they sailed through the air. They rolled down the embankment, landing in the middle of the road. Their limbs were flung askew as the corpse came to a halt.

D’arshan stood in the middle of the senseless carnage. He heaved an exhausted sigh. “What a waste…” Digging into his pocket, he took out a stained rag to wipe the blood from his spear. There had been no point in that attack. Why had they decided he would have been an easy target? But it was no use asking. They were all very dead.

The crunch of snow was barely audible. D’arshan’s ears swiveled under his scarf, though he did not turn just yet.

“Beautiful spear work, that,” said a voice.

Dropping his cleaning cloth, D’arshan whirled and fell back into a defensive stance. The tip of his spear pointed unerringly at the person who had come up behind him on the road. His blue furred ears perked forward beneath the knit fabric. “Who are you? What do you want?” the Tia demanded. His pale green eyes narrowed, his gaze flickering over the stranger’s armor. Sword. Shield. Pointed ears and ridiculously tall. An elezen knight in Ishgardian colors. Hmm…

The stranger held up his hands, a smile on his face. “Peace, friend. I mean no harm.” His smile slid away when the spear aimed at him did not even waver. “My, you are suspicious. Fair enough. You were, after all, most grievously assaulted by heretics not even moments before.” He bowed, maintaining his stare at the spear in case he needed to dodge. “I am of Ishgard, good ser. I apologize for not coming to your aid sooner. Though it appears you did not even need help.” He straightened up and held out his arms. “My name is Lord Haurchefant of House Fortemps—“

“My lord! My lord, where are you?!”

“I am over here!” he called over his shoulder, gaze still on D’arshan. “And it appears that I am being called forthwith by my knights. I must apologize to them for dashing off during our joint inspections of the roads with House Durendaire.” The elezen’s steel blue eyes creased with his smile. “Though, pray indulge me before I depart. By what are you called, good lancer? Are you an adventurer, mayhap?”

D’arshan stayed silent, ignoring the elezen’s sigh of disappointment.

“I see. Forgive me for demanding such things, especially in regards to our inauspicious meeting.” The Fortemps lordling cupped his chin in thought. “Know this, Ser Lancer, that you are welcome as are all adventurers to Camp Dragonhead.” Just as he finished speaking, several knights approached at speed. “There they are.”

“My lord, what happened?!” One knight, head coved in a mail coif and face bare, hurried to the elezen lord’s side. They gasped. “Heretics! Here?!”

“Fear not, my friends!” Lord Haurchefant said loudly. “For I was not their unfortunately chosen target! Nay, it appears they chose a lone traveler and did not realize until too late their grave error! But all is well now.” He seemed to be good-naturedly enduring his knights’ fussing over him with a smile.

Seeing that these people wouldn’t be leaving any time soon, D’arshan put his spear on his back. The knights looked at him suspiciously. He rolled his eyes and tugged away his scarf to expose his flicking ears and frowning face. The Ishgardians gaped. Even Lord Haurchefant looked surprised, his face flushing. “D’arshan,” the miqo’te said roughly.

“I… I beg your pardon, Ser Lancer?”

“My name, you asked for it, didn’t you?” He sniffed in disdain. “D’arshan Tia, son of D’ayaza Mashiyn. Yes, I am an adventurer. Your lands are too cold for my liking.”

Lord Haurchefant laughed in delight. “Many people feel the same about our land,” he conceded. “From where do you hail, Ser Tia?” His knights silently watched the exchange.

“Tia is not a last name.” D’arshan smirked at their confusion. “Miqo’te don’t have last names like elezen and hyur. Tia is a title, an indicator of my status in the D tribe.” For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he was telling this lordling any information. Then again, he also hated ignorance, even kindly meant ignorance. “Sun Seeker men only have two options in that. Nuhn or Tia.” He shrugged. “And I’m from the southern desert. Snow only happens at mountain peaks.”

“I fear I am not familiar with any of the terms that you speak of! But the desert, you say? You are far from home indeed! If I may ask, what brings you to Coerthas?”

And there it was. “My guildmaster sent me this way,” D’arshan replied. “To further my ability with a spear.” He didn’t mention the other reason for coming. Ywain had asked for secrecy, so he would maintain it. “Something about speaking with a dragoon? Though I’m not sure what for…” Liar, liar, pants on fire. But he kept a straight face.

The Fortemps lordling clapped. “I know of whom you speak! He is a renowned dragoon stationed at the Observatorium. It is just further up this road, friend!” He bowed, his silver hair hiding his eyes for a moment. “Allow us to escort you. Trentmonte, Brennanien, please remove the heretics from the road. A pyre for them, I think.”

“At once, my lord!” the two knights said. They saluted before going about their gruesome but necessary task with cold efficiency. Trails of blood was left behind one as the other buried each trail with a new layer of snow.

D’arshan wasn’t quite sure what to think of the process. To treat the bones of those men so casually instead of returning them to their loved ones or at least to their homes… But he could not speak up for it was not his place. It wasn’t like when he carried back the blackened bones of his unnamed comrades to their respective guilds after Ifrit.

He thought a quick prayer to Nald’Thal for their swift journey into the heavens, no matter their crimes in life.

“Come, friend. For you have done a service for Ishgard in dispatching those heretics before they could assail other travelers. And so it is my duty to see you safely to your destination!” The cheery elezen lord gestured for the miqo’te to follow. His smile widened as the shorter man fell into step with him. The other knights loosely circled around the pair for the walk. “You seemed to be a well-traveled man, Ser D’arshan Tia. Would you share a tale or two? Mayhap after your meeting with Ser Alberic? There is a place by my hearth that would be welcome to you.”

“I’m a pretty busy guy, sorry. I’m just doing this while waiting for something back at Quarrymill. Maybe someday. We’ll see.”

“Splendid! I look forward to it, whenever it may be.”

* * *

“Any news yet?” D’arshan asked when he returned from Coerthas to Buscarron’s Druthers. He didn’t want to think about this business with rogue Azure Dragoons, stolen dragon eyeballs (ew) and the soul stone burning in his pocket. And he was glad to be out of the cold. His jacket was stuffed into his armiger, exposing his biceps in the more balmy air of the South Shroud. His spear was put away as well. Instead the miqo’te had his bow and quiver.

Yda sighed and shook her head. “Nope! No sightings yet of the sylph elder!” she reported, now more relaxed by D’arshan’s own calm demeanor. Seeing him lose his temper firsthand on the journey to Gridania had been… enlightening. She nudged a snoring, drooping Papalymo with her foot. The lalafell jerked awake from his doze. “Right?”

Papalymo adjusted his monocle. “Unfortunately,” he said. He cleared his throat. “But we have not spoken to Buscarron yet today. Mayhap he has a different answer. You have returned in a most timely manner, at the very least!”

“Ywain, for all of his faults, is still one of my guildmasters,” D’arshan said, entering the tavern with the two other Scions. “And he was in need of aid. Apparently he trusts me enough to ask me for it.”

“D’arshan! Lad, am I glad you’re here!” Buscarron waved his arm high, beckoning the three to the bar. “I’ve got news!”

Eyes lighting up, the Scions hurried through the afternoon crowd. “What have you heard?” D’arshan asked, ears perked forward. Without looking, the miqo’te lifted Papalymo onto a barstool despite the small man’s protests. Yda giggled. “Has your folks seen the elder? Or a sign that I can at least use for tracking?”

“There’s been sightings, aye. But I’ve got bad news too.”

“Tempered sylphs?” D’arshan asked, his shoulders tensing.

"Worse, lad. Much worse. Imperials have been spotted, too deep in the Wood considering they’ve never been this close before. I’ve been worrying because with our sylphic elder missing, who knows what those bucket heads are up to. Here, let me mark your map.” Buscarron penned a few red marks on the little map from the miqo’te’s pocket. “If you could check out these spots where my people have spotted a sylph, mayhap you’ll find signs of the elder. And if you find imperials, squash them like the pests they are, aye?”

“Alright.” D’arshan took back the map. “These are really close, buddy. You sure?”

“Aye. I’m sure.”

“Leave the imperial spotting to us!” Yda piped up. She jabbed the air with her fists. “We’ll kick them right out of the Shroud!”

“Indeed. D’arshan, make the elder your priority,” Papalymo said from his barstool. “They are the more important regarding our mission and Ramuh. We cannot let the primal be summoned and the elder is the key.” He waved his little finger in the air for emphasis. “A primal summoning would be a disaster!”

“Yeah… I know that better than anyone.” The blue haired miqo’te politely ignored the older man’s wince. “Buscarron, keep an ear out for anything else, please.”

“You got it lad. The peace of the Twelveswood is in our hands.” The proprietor grinned. “Oh, and Auphiliot needs to talk to you. Don’t mind his sotted state.”

“It’s the usual for him. I know.” D’arshan shook his head and went to the far end of the bar to speak with the tipsy cowl wearing elezen. His eyebrows rose at the request to speak to the poachers dotting the South Shroud to help with the invading Garleans sneaking about. The poachers from the same groups he had hunted with Silvairre before this mess. “Okay, sure. If they don’t try to kill me first.” He didn’t say that they would fail. Spectacularly. And eat his arrows for dinner.

Auphiliot laughed. “Oh, don’t you worry none. They’re very interested in you anyway. A Coeurlclaw and a Redbelly. Don’t forget.” He went back to his drink.

“Fuck, okay. Yeah. Why the hells not?” Confused by the request, D’arshan left the tavern to scout the spots marked on his map and to seek out the two poaching criminals for aid against Garleans. “Being a Scion is a ridiculous job…”

* * *

The vicious beating D’arshan delivered to the traitorous Wood Wailer Laurentius and his imperial employers sent gossip flying through the ranks of the Coeurlclaws and Redbellies.

One of the Claws, a young kitten barely grown, whispered to her littermates of the giant marauder’s hammer the Tia had used to smash the man’s knees. Apparently he had taken great offense to the disgraced Wailer’s betrayal. How he had bellowed about putting his beloved mother in danger for selling out to the Garleans. The older female Keepers of the Moon nodded, pleased about his loyalty to the woman they believed birthed him. What a good, proper miqo’te son. Wandering but still beholden to his mother. Mayhap they could lure him in for… particular purposes? And letting him go on his way afterwards.

An older Redbelly announced his told-you-so to every person who was in his space. He knew of the miqo’te hunter who had tracked and killed many a poacher a moon ago with his elezen partner in the Wood. About the fall of the infamous Pawah Mujuuk to his bow with two others of the Archers Guild. Others in the Redbellies swore never to cross the man. And if they saw him, to avoid him at all costs.

Even the Coeurl King commanded his people to keep away. The thought of the other miqo’te man and his strength made him sweat nervously. The whispered plans between his women never reached his ears though. Or else he would have flown into a jealous rage and gone to challenge the Tia. He would have lost, as a matter of fact. One does not easily kill a Primal’s bane.

And, as they say, you keep what you kill.

* * *

D’arshan dropped the moaning Laurentius onto the floor of Buscarron’s tavern. Silence fell, the crowds surging away to ring around the spectacle. Whispers filled the air.

Yda gaped, clutching a shocked Papalymo to her chest like a doll. The thaumaturge didn’t even protest. “He’s not no knees!” she whispered in her partner’s pointed ear. “They’re all… juicy…”

“Seven hells, that’s a mess,” Auphiliot muttered. He gulped down his ale.

“Ah… you found him, I see.” Buscarron winced his single eye. “And pulled no punches.”

“I was mad.”

“Aye, laddie. I see that.”

“He’s a Garlean boot licker who lined his pockets with Garlean coin.” His words drew hisses from the crowd. Spit landed on the sobbing fool at the miqo’te’s feet.

“I’m getting that.”

“I should have squashed his head.” D’arshan crossed his arms. His tail lashed. “I still can, if you like.” He nudged the whimpering traitor with his boot.

“Not on my floors, ale stained as they are. No fighting in the Druthers, lad. Them’s the rules. Oi, Ervie! Come drag this sorry sod outta me bar and to a conjurer. Then drag him to the Twin Adders. Hopefully they’ll be kinder than our boy here.”

“Aye aye!” One of the regulars did as asked, disgust on his face.

“So. Still up for bashing in heads? Because our missing elder has been spotted!” Buscarron nodded at the two Scions still staring at the miqo’te.

“They were being chased by Garlean soldiers!” Papalymo shouted, finally shaking himself out of his stupor. “You must get yourself to Toto-Rak before it’s too late.” He wriggled in the pugilist’s hold.

“We’ll take care of the Garleans, D’arshan. We came here to wait for you. But we need to hurry!” Yda dropped her lalafell partner to tug at her other fellow Scion’s arm. “But maybe use your bow instead of your hammer? We need you cool and calm, you hear! If anything happens to Elder Frixio, the chance for peace will disappear!”

D’arshan shook his head and activated his armiger. His heavy armor and war hammer was exchanged for his leathers and bow. “Alright, off we get. Buscarron?”

“Talk to old Bloisirant, tell ‘im I sent ya! Go, go, go!”

And they were off to rescue the sylph elder.

* * *

D’arshan cursed the Ascians, cursed the Toto-Rak mites, and cursed the webbing still stuck on his ears. And cursed the Twelve for good measure while he was at it. His fingers dug at the webs clinging to his armor too. His lips spewed more curses as he made his way out of the ruins in the caves.

Only a few moments before he began his verbal diatribe, Elder Frixio had flown off to the Little Solace safe and sound. And once the elder had disappeared from hearing distance, the miqo’te had certainly let loose his vile tongue. From guttural miqo’te growls to the few words of French he managed to still remember, D’arshan cursed and spat. Finally tired of fighting the webs, he summoned umbral flames tinted blue. The color was his only concession to his fire related PTSD. He barely flinched.

The webbing burned away from his clothes, hair, and fur.

The blue-haired man sighed in relief. He exited the dungeons to be greeted by the rising sun. His shoulders drooped with exhaustion as Bloisirant ran to his side. The elezen Wood Wailer helped drag his tailed arse back to Buscarron’s Druthers. He let Yda and Papalymo fuss over him. Their voices filled his ears; their hands patted him down for injuries. But he had few considering his ordeal.

D’arshan leaned against Yda. His forehead was cradled in the crook of her shoulder. Blue furred ears flicked against her cheek like a soft butterfly kiss. His soft blue hair tipped with red tickled the skin of her throat. And so D’arshan gave in to the siren call of sleep. Papalymo gently removed his bow and empty quiver. He didn’t feel the hyur of their trio lift him to carry him to a bed offered by the older proprietor of the Druthers.

He did not wake until noon bell.

* * *

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for making it this far! Tap that kudos button or leave a comment if you like!


	11. Interlude 11: Haunted Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otherwise known as Haukke Manor and the Rogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice little 500 word explanation how a certain thing happened to a certain somebody...
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

** Haunted Despair **

* * *

When the report from D’arshan had said this place was creepy as all get out, he had not been joking. At all.

Even if his wording left something to be desired in eloquence, their frontline Echo user had conveyed his meaning well enough.

Dim aetheric light flickered in the ruined halls, which made strange shadows dance on the peeling wallpaper. Dilapidated floorboards squeaked with even the barest touch. A few scattered voidsent that had managed to escape the miqo’s run through lumbered along or floated hither and about. Moans echoed up from the basement. Elsewhere chains rattled at random. Shrieks and cries even seemed to come from the walls themselves. Carpet leeches squelched on the floors and walls and ceilings. Slime dripped from above. A bit splatted on his shoulder, soaking his shirt.

Thancred was very much regretting his assignment in researching the Ascians. He muttered a soft curse when he once again stepped wrong. An Evil Eye screeched and flew for his face. It met its end by his daggers. The rogue slipped back into the shadows. He poked around the first floor rooms for any clue. But it seemed useless.

He didn’t really want to go into the accursed basement.

“Upstairs first, I think.” Thancred scaled the side stairs up to where D’arshan had destroyed the lady of the manor. “I’ll have to ask him about that Lady of Bathory that he talked about when I get back…” The comparison had certainly sounded gruesome, whoever the woman had been. He had never heard of her.

The upstairs door to the master bedroom creaked low and slow as it was opened by his hand. Thancred peaked around the door. He gagged at the smell. Blood stains, fresh layers at least, were splattered all over the room. It certainly explained his fellow Scion’s blood soaked appearance when he had somehow teleported into Vesper Bay without an aetheryte. Already ruined furniture was splintered and scattered across the floor. A decaying corpse, bloated and blackened, was in the middle of the room. Remnants of dark aether was still wafting from it. And that was the smell explained as well.

“Damnation, what happened here?” The hyur crept in on silent feet. His boots danced around the debris, the carpet squelching. “Ugh, I did not take you to be a messy fighter, friend.”

“He had fought well.” A being stepped into view, clawed gloves tapping together. “Oh, you shall do nicely…”

Horrified and surprised, Thancred whirled around. His brown eyes widened. A mage in black robes…

Ascian…

Thancred skittered back, pulling out his daggers. But he didn’t even get time to scream as black aether shot across the ruined room and engulfed him. He choked as tendrils of darkness shoved their way down his throat. More wrapped around his body. He writhed, his eyes rolling in fear. But his struggles were in vain. The last thing he saw was a gloved hand hovering over his face, claws perilously close to his eyes.

Thancred dropped his weapons with a muffled clatter and knew no more…

* * *

**END INTERLUDE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now Thancred is... well, we know what the result was... 
> 
> (I'm sorry, I love you Thanny!)


	12. Second Prelude to Titan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which D'arshan retires his marauder's axe, deals with some shenanigans searching for Ascians, and D'arshan finally understands most of the Thieves' Cant coming from Jacke's mouth. But feelings are still weirdly elusive. Let's go become a ninja instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are approaching our next primal, friends, and the shitshow that is about to happen after. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

* * *

“I’m hanging up my marauder’s weapons.”

Brynja looked up from her tome. The viera raised her green dyed eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, such a decision is not made lightly,” she said, her smooth voice with its soft brogue as pleasant as always. “May I ask why?”

“I don’t like how it makes me feel…” D’arshan rubbed the back of his neck, his left ear flicking. “Whenever I tap into my marauder skills, I just… lose it.” He crossed his arms. His shoulders hunched up to his jaw. “I’m not an angry person, Brynja. Truly, I prefer not to be. But I obliterated a man’s knees… how did I let myself become this way?”

“I believe it was our battle with Ifrit and its consequences,” she said as she stood from her chair by her little hearth. “Look and see how far you sit from the fire still. Do the flames fill you with rage?”

D’arshan’s eyes darting around, avoiding the fire in the hearth. “I… don’t know? I used fire to get the webs off of me weeks ago but I had to change the color to blue.” His eyes squeezed shut. “It was hot. I—“

_A ring of fire… bones blackened…. Red, red red! Burning!_

“—shan. Arshan, come back.”

“Bryn?!” Arshan blinked awake to find that he had scrunched himself into a corner by the front door of his friend’s little cottage. The plush, wing-backed chair he had been sitting in was nearly in pieces. As though he had torn at it, the pieces flung about in his fear and rage. “How did I…?” He curled up tighter with his arms wrapped around his bent knees. He struggled with his breathing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean. Did I hurt you?” He shook, shoulders heaving.

“Arshan, look at me.” Brynja was kneeling on the rug, a few fulms between them. “Look at me, my friend.” She smiled though the expression was faint. He peeked at her with one red-rimmed eye. “I am unharmed.”

“Your chair.”

“Easily replaced.” The viera held out her arms. “Embrace me?” A blur and she was holding a trembling young man in her lap. His face was buried in her crook of her neck. His arms were wrapped around her ribs. He melted into her softness. She rubbed her cheek between his folded back ears. “Mayhap ceasing to be a practicing marauder will be good for you. Mayhap your rage will soften, if only a little.” Her fingers stroked along his cheek. “Mayhap… you should stay here a little while longer. Until they call for you again. You say you have learned new recipes, aye?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you want a cake? Because I definitely owe you cake. Some pastries? My pie is good too. No chocolate though.”

“Hmm, you will have to tell me about why you refuse to touch chocolate.”

“Oh? I didn’t tell you? Well it began in the Bismarck and a new chocolate tarte experiment to add to the menu and old Lyngsath having no one willing to try it... and I definitely shouldn’t have volunteered apparently…”

* * *

Brynja immediately forced D’arshan to get allergy testing at the Healing Ward of the Conjurers Guild after the heart stopping story of why he couldn’t eat chocolate. A swollen shut throat was no laughing matter. Mangoes were then added to the list of things he was not allowed to eat, much to his loud sighing disappointment.

* * *

Meeting Wilred had been… an adventure. D’arshan had found it incredibly amusing that this boy thought he could be intimidated into leaving. He had nothing on Ifrit or the massive diremite of Toto-Rak. Or the other dangers he had faced since becoming an adventurer. D’arshan wasn’t going to just stop poking around. Not with the rumors of Ascians flying about. The amusement disappeared just as quickly when he then had to rescue the Ala Mhigan youth and his foolish band of young idiots from the Amalij’aa and their own hubris. Summoning Rhalgr as a primal? What had they been thinking?!

Gundobald’s lecture was still ringing in the miqo’te’s ears and he hadn’t even been the one who was getting yelled at afterward.

And then Haukke and its bloody history came to him. The less said about Haukke Manor, the better. The stink of dark aether and blood was still clogging his nose. Diving into the bay had probably been ill-advised. But to be fair D’arshan had forced a teleport directly into Vesper Bay covered in blood and ichor. And there was no way Tataru was going to let him in dripping that everywhere. He then turned in his report with all due haste and handed off the more detailed investigation into Thancred’s capable hands with a good luck and a peace out girl scout.

And he gave him a high-five, like he was tagging the other man in, much to the hyur’s bemusement.

Now D’arshan was at loose ends. Maybe he should pay a visit to Jacke…

* * *

“Just the dimber damber I was a-seeking!”

“What’d ya do?”

Jacke Swallow, guildmaster of the Rogues, gasped. He dramatically laid his hand on the sliver of bare skin of his chest. “Ne’er a kind whid for ol’ Jacke!” he proclaimed. V’kebbe rolled her eyes from her corner, returning to sharpening her stabbers. He grinned when he saw his wandering colt fight a smile. “What makes ye think I did somethin’?”

“Ye’re always doin’ somethin’,” V’kebbe muttered. She hissed when her captain shushed her.

“She’s right,” D’arshan said, now laughing. His eyes creased happily with his smile. “What’s up, Jacke? You need me for something? The yellow shrew making noise again?” The miqo’te sauntered further into the main guild hall, if it could be called as such. On the far side was a couple of colts practicing under the supervision of an older rogue. “Looks like your newest are well in hand, aye?”

“Hmm, hmm. Come bring yer wattles Jacke’s way to be whiddled on what’s needing.” Jack flapped his hand for him to come closer. He swung an arm around the miqo’s shoulders and tugged him close. He leaned in to whisper in those pale blue ears. “How ya doing, old boy? Looking peaky, ya are. Can ol’ Jacke lend his daddles to ya?” He made a soothing noise when D’arshan huddled into his embrace. “What’s all this now, do I need to mill a cove for ya?” Jacke nodded at V’kebbe, who hustled the colts and their assigned mentor out. “Come now, ya can fill me wattles with anythin’. What’s got you all frimble frambled?”

“I can mill my own coves,” D’arshan mumbled to the taller man’s throat and necklaces. “I’m just tired still….”

“That so.” Jacke hummed. “I’ve been hearing interesting things and yer name pops up a lot, ya ken.”

D’arshan snorted. “I bet.” He turned to fully embrace the older rogue. His tail curled around the other’s hip. “But don’t worry about it.” He ignored the man’s snort of disbelief. “What’s got you needing a dimber damber anyway?” The thieves’ cant still felt awkward on his tongue but D’arshan used a few words by virtue of being a part of the guild. He rumbled a purr when Jacke stroked clever fingers down his back. “Captain?”

“I’m thinkin’ you need a rest first, afore we dive in. I’ll tell Underfoot to plant down his dew beaters until the morrow.” Jacke grunted as he heaved the unprotesting miqo over his shoulder. “Yer not even scraping it…” he muttered. The hyur adjusted his hold, his forearm pressed to the back of the younger’s thighs. “Oi!” He puffed out a bit of fur as his colt’s tail whapped him in the face. “Keep yer daft tail under control!”

“Sorry.”

“On the morrow, I’ll blab what needs doin’. But the lightmans is a-fading and yer a sack of popotoes. Off we get, bene?”

D’arshan yawned as he gripped the back of Jacke’s shirt. “Sounds good. Cuddles?” His ears flicked.

“Taking up space in me bed again? Bene, bene. Whatev’r ya want. Don’t go hoggin’ the blankets, then.” Jacke carried him past the gaping colts. V’kebbe waved, a grin on her face. “Not gum flap from ya, Stray!” Her grin grew wider. She had spotted her captain’s light blush in the dim light of the hall.

“I do not hog the blankets!” D’arshan protested, uncaring that the newest recruits were staring.

“That’s a bunch o’ gab! Ye do!” The two disappeared down the hall and up the stairs toward Jacke’s bedroom.

“Are they…?”

“Is he…?”

“I’ll be cackling nothing to ya colts!” V’kebbe scolded. “None yer prattle! We got darkmans practice for ya. Off now!” She herded the colts and their laughing mentor out of the guild into the dark docks. “Just tup ‘im already,” she muttered to herself, kicking one colt literally out of the door.

* * *

D’arshan yawned wide, his tongue curling up at the tip. Smacking his lips, he rolled out of Jacke’s bed. He popped up to his feet, blinking. The weak light of the predawn sun peeked through the blinds. He pulled on his tunic back over his undershirt. He sat to pull on his boots over his clothed calves, having slept with his pants on. Jacke rolled over with a grumble but went back to sleep. The miqo’te, up as always with the sun, shook his head. His lips curled up in a fond smile.

The fast talking guildmaster really was one of his favorite people.

“Jacke, I’ll be getting breakfast. You want anything?”

“Sausage roll,” Jacke mumbled before pulling his pillow over his face.

“Okidoki, then.” D’arshan stretched, his ears standing straight up and his tail curving toward his shoulders. He shook himself after, his spine popping.

“Popped corn…”

“Shut yer gabber.” Summoning up his daggers, D’arshan strapped the weapons into their holsters at his hips. “I’ll be back. Don’t roll off the bed.” He sauntered out of the bedroom, gently closing the door behind him.

Jacke shoved away his pillow. He sighed, pressing his palms to his eyes. “Fool,” he muttered. “Yer heart is gonna break over this one, aye.” His hands shoved up through his hair. “But would it be so bad?” The ideas of so many things rolled around in his head. “It would help if he didn’t like snuggles!” The handsome hyur sat up. His arms ached for the other’s weight, to feel that seemingly inexhaustible strength in the curve of his biceps and the breadth of his shoulders. “V’kebbe is gonna laugh her tail off.” Damn his heart…

Damn it all.

* * *

Tilting his head to the side, the soft whoosh of a thrown dagger whispered against the cheek of his skin. But D’arshan never let his gaze stray from the Far Easterner in garish red. The man, Karasu, giggled and spewed extravagant words to match his jerking theatrical movements. D’arshan narrowed his eyes.

“We shall meet again!” With a flashbang and smoke, Karasu disappeared.

“What a showboat.” The miqo’te eyed the two Easterners. “You okay? Oh, wait! This is yours. Your dying friend bade me to give this to you.” He dug into his hip pouch to pull out a soul stone. Oh yes, he knew exactly what it was considering the Dragoon soul stone still floating around in his armiger. He held it out to the two.

But the following conversation took an interesting turn. D’arshan grimaced hard, his fingers closing around the crystal.

“If you are willing with our proposed exchange, please meet with us at the Raincatcher Gully docks,” the woman named Tsubame said. “Your aid would be invaluable.”

“And the stone of our brother speaks to you,” Oboro, the other Far Easterner, said solemnly. “I believe that this is meant to be. Speak the password I gave you to Byakubu.” They disappeared with nary a sound.

“What a pair o’ dimber dambers…” Underfoot mused. “If I was a bit younger, I’d be takin’ that learnin’ opportunity.” He pointed at D’arshan. “A golden opportunity has been thrown at yer dew beaters! I say take it! I’m a-thinkin’ ya’ll be needing to further yer skills with yer stabbers. We ain’t really got much else to teach ya. And from what I know of what ye’re involved in…” The lalafell shook his head. “To our captain, I be goin’ now. Think about them ninjas and joinin’ them while I go report our findings.” He began to leave but paused. “And D’arshan?”

“Yeah?” D’arshan shifted his feet nervously.

“Don’t be dyin’. It’ll fair break our captain’s heart to lose ya.” Underfoot left just as quietly as Oboro and Tsubame.

Thunder rumbled and rolled in the clouds above. But D’arshan didn’t move as rain started pouring down. His hands fell down to his sides, his head bowed. Within moments he was soaked through. Water dripped from the tip of his nose and his pale blue eyelashes. He closed his green eyes in thought. His ears pressed back against his skull. Cotton and leather grew heavy on his body from the cold wet. For a long, soaked moment he waited. For he wasn’t quite sure what Underfoot had implied.

The miqo’te flicked his tail. Shaking his head, he resolved to put whatever that was on the backburner. He had ninjas to talk to after all. And soon enough, D’arshan knew the Scions would be calling again. For aid, for investigation, for slaying primals. It was starting on weigh on him but he could not falter. Not yet. Not ever.

Every time D’arshan managed to find some rest, to finally relax, the world was intent on teetering toward disaster again. And something told him it was only the beginning.

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See y'all later! Tap that kudos or leave a comment if you like! Thanks for making it this far!


	13. Juggernaut of Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fighting gods is never easy. Titan is no exception. But D'arshan has little choice. Fight or let all of Limsa Lominsa die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're here~!
> 
> Hold on to your butts!
> 
> (These have been rapid fire, my goodness. Hope you enjoy!)

* * *

Noise exploded in the air, voices rising.

The entire guild descended into an uproar when Oboro staggered into the hall with Lonny hot on his heels. Curled over the shinobi’s shoulder was an unconscious and battered D’arshan. Behind Lonny was Tsubame. A swarm of rogues surged into action. Underfoot scurried to find Solkwyb at the Marauders Guild. V’kebbe directed the shinobi to lay their boy down upon the gathered blankets and bedrolls the colts had piled up. And Jacke?

Jacke could only fall to his knees by D’arshan’s side. His hands, usually so clever and sure, fluttered uselessly above the miqo’s bruised and dusty face. The rogue didn’t even blink when he was shoved aside by the hastily summoned Roegadyn conjurer from Coral Tower. He barely heard Oboro’s hasty explanation now how D’arshan came to him in this state.

“…just fell…”

“The seven hells…!”

“… Titan…” And that was Merlwyb. His admiral’s voice and her hands moving him…

* * *

_“Jacke, I’m headed back to the Waking Sands. The Antecedent called.” _Nod_. “Yeah, I’ll be safe. Hug before I go?”_

Buzz. _“Thancred is acting a bit weird… But I’m being sent on. I’ll have to check on him after this. Thanks for giving me your linkpearl number or whatever it’s called. And for listening to my bitching.”_

Buzz!_ “Hey Jacke, sorry to call your linkpearl so late! Thanks for talking to me. Hey, so I’ll be swinging by Limsa again. But I won’t have time to visit. I will after all this though, promise.”_

_“Oh man, this is a joke. If I wasn’t such an honest guy, I’d mill this cove for jerking us around like this. What? His name? Yeah… yeah, you can have his name, the lying arse.”_

_“These asshats have got me running to the U tribe! All the way into the ass-end of South Thanalan! Can you believe?!”_

_“Thanks for answering your linkpearl. Gods, I’m gonna go ballistic. This cove thinks I’ll just waltz into this stinky swamp to poach a giant tortoise egg. Me, the guy who takes down code breakers and poachers for giggles! Do they think I’m stupid? Like I’m gonna let go of my morals just to prove myself to these guys. Ha! I’m gonna break this tall elezen bitch over my knee…”_

_“There’s some poor hermit out here in the jungle. But he managed to find a fancy grape vine thing that is supposed to revitalize some fancy wine type? Bring it back? I don’t know. Sounds weird to me but I don’t really drink…”_

_“Goblin cheese is the actual worst, Jacke. It stinks. I had to fight a dragon just to get a wheel. A stinky, stinky wheel of cheese and the price was spearing a dragon. By myself! What kind of nonsense…”_

_“Captain Swallow…. Jacke. If I asked you to gather up the guild, Sisipu, and Wawalago to take the next boat to Vesper Bay, would you? No? Okay, that’s fair. Just… stay safe. Tell our admiral to brace for possible impact.”_

_“I’m going in, Jacke. Don’t be wringing your hands for me.”_

* * *

“Ya gotta wake up, Arshan. I’m losing me mind. Yer linkpearl has stopped buzzing. Please. Please, wake up.”

* * *

**A Week Earlier…**

D’arshan disappeared into the shadows, even under the afternoon sun. All around people partied in Costa del Sol. Even Y’shtola was sipping a cup of mead. The Nuhn of the U laughed loudly at something his former blind lalafell comrade said. The elezen Wood Wailer, who had felt the fury of his fists for daring to suggest that he poach an egg from an endangered tortoise’s nest, was still nursing a broken arm. A couple of cooing dancing girls fussed over him. The goblin who had sent him in after a dragon, gods be good, was helping people sample the gobbie cheese. The thought made D’arshan gag.

They were celebrating. But was it to his potential victory over Titan? Or was it to his future death by stony god fists?

It was morbid and D’arshan wanted nothing to do with it, honored guest title be damned. Instead he slipped away to the sands beneath the platforms. The miqo’te wandered down the beach. Coming to a stop some distance away, he stared out to the horizon. His pale green eyes closed to soak in the last rays of the setting sun. His arms turned so his open palms were facing the sun. He breathed in deep. The scent of salt and water filled his nose. . It was as if he was getting in one last prayer.

Azeyma shield his heart and brace his bones. Halone guide his lance and see that it strikes true. Nymeia spin his fate to victory. Llymlaen see him safe to harbor in the end. May Nald’Thal not take him yet. Not yet.

Above his head, the gulls cried their mournful laugh.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, D’arshan would walk to his death beneath the mountain. Or mayhap it would be his victory after all.

* * *

“Y’shtola… hey, are you sleeping?”

“Go to sleep, D’arshan. You will need it for the morrow.”

“This is crazy.”

Y’shtola sighed and rolled over in her narrow bed. Though she was the Sun Seeker, her night vision was more than enough to see her fellow Scion laying on his own bed flat on his back. They were barely half an arm length away from each other. “I know,” she said. “But we must do our duty. We must protect this realm.”

“I’m going to die. This is how I go.” D’arshan rolled over to his side to face her. “Shtola… I’m cold.” _I’m scared._

“Budge over.” Y’shtola got out of her bed, dragging her blanket with her. She shoved him over. Wriggling into the freed space, she sighed and curled up against him. A hesitant arm slowly curved around her shoulders. The scholar found herself tucked firmly under his chin and held tight against a shaking torso. “Go to sleep.”

The woman said nothing else as their tails intertwined beneath the blankets and they fell into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

A steady, firm hand thrust up in the air. Aether pulsed around them. The beastman aetheryte slowly lit up. A humming sound echoed in the little grotto. The white-haired miqo’te scholar exhaled shakily but her magic stayed true. Y’shtola turned her head to stare at the frontline Echo user by her side. “I fear I cannot go with you,” she said quietly. “I must keep the way open so that you may escape if needed.” Her ears flicked. “May the Crystal give you strength.”

D’arshan nodded. Pressing his lips together in a tight line, the taller miqo’te held out his own hand. He closed his eyes, casting his senses down the barely open pathway between aetherytes. He summoned up his aether. His hand began to glow, the light pulsing to match the rhythm of the beastman aetheryte.

“Good luck!” Riol shouted. “We’ll be guarding this spot until your return!” He grinned. The ‘if you return’ was left unsaid. He laughed when the man’s other hand flicked him off. “Navigator guide you, lad.”

D’arshan disappeared into the depths of the mountain.

* * *

Skittering back, D’arshan fell into his fighting stance. His palms were sweaty in his gloves, his fingers wrapped around his spear. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face and off the edge of his jaw. He nervously glanced back to see that his right heel was barely ilms away from the edge of the platform. His ears quivered. His tail stiffened. Towering above him, Titan roared and beat his massive fists against his massive chest.

This rock bastard was so fucking big. Gods preserve him.

“I want… a bulldozer.” And some dynamite. This was mad. He was mad. Why was he doing this again? Wasn’t killing one primal enough?! Damn the kobolds and damn his admiral and the people of Limsa for breaking treaty. And damn them for leaving him to clean this up!

The miqo’te dodged a thrown boulder, surging his body to the left. Holding his spear in one hand now, D’arshan dug the fingers of his other into the shaking, shuddering platform. Titan stomped his feet in rage. He bellowed and jumped up into the air. His tiny opponent spat a curse. He channeled aether into his Dragoon soul stone while counting the seconds before impact. At the last moment, he utilized Jump away from the edge he had been at, flipping up to land on the primal’s shoulder. He dug his spearhead into rocky flesh.

Titan screamed and thrashed.

D’arshan found himself falling. But he wasn’t able to twist away in time when a boulder flew at him. The stone slammed into the front of his body. He curved around the boulder, eyes widening. His spear slipped from nerveless hands. Organs began to fail, crushed by the blow. Ribs creaked and cracked. His spine popped out of alignment.

He coughed blood and fell over the edge of the platform. The boulder separated from him to plummet past his crushed self.

The miqo’te could hear the air whistling in his ears. Titan roared in triumph. Time seemed to slow as he fell. Tears streamed from his eyes. Tears of pain, of fear, of despair. The despair of failure, so bitter was its taste.

And then a pulse of aether and light.

* * *

_Bringer of Light._

_Thou art not finished._

_Not yet._

_The darkness must not prevail._

_Back must you go. _

_Take a piece of mine power._

* * *

Everything stopped. Sound. Sight. Movement. As if a giant, universal pause button had been pressed.

Light spread from D’arshan’s crystal, flowing through him. Bones snapped into place. He choked back a scream. Organs were rearranged and re-inflated. He sobbed. Twisting and writhing in midair, Hydaelyn put her chosen back together. D’arshan cried out for his mother. He cried out for Brynja. Pop went his spine. He screamed for Y’shtola.

For Jacke.

When it was over, he found himself floating up. With a flash of light, D’arshan landed back on the platform in a slumped, kneel. With a clatter his spear appeared by his hand. He shakily grabbed its shaft. He looked up at the frozen Titan. Tear tracks cut clean lines on his dirty cheeks. And his lips twisted into a snarl, his eyes glowing blue.

Time resumed.

D’arshan screamed hoarsely, throat shredded from when he had been put back together like fucking Humpty Dumpty. He surged to his feet and aimed his spear at the primal. The god blinked in confusion but roared back at him. The miqo’te charged. Aether flowed into his Dragoon soul stone and he launched up with a flex of his powerful thighs, spearhead pointed down.

With a resounding crash, he pierced the top of the stone primal’s head. He jerked his spear, feet planted firm. He moved with the massive head as he forced it back. His biceps strained beneath his leathers and iron plate. The primal stumbled backward. It bellowed and struggled to dislodge him. But D’arshan would not be moved.

He would move for nothing but his own say so.

Swinging down and leaving his spear, D’arshan summoned another spear from his armiger. He landed on where Titan would have a clavicle if it wasn’t a giant rock thing. He braced himself and jammed his weapon up into the almost soft underside of the primal’s chin. The sharp end sank in deep. Molten rock like blood poured from the wound. D’arshan screamed as some landed on his shoulders with a sizzle, almost melting his pauldrons. But he shoved the spear further up. More molten blood splashed on his iron bracers and his gauntlets. D’arshan roared from the agony. His eyes were still glowing blue, the strength of the Mother Crystal powering him onward. His godly opponent gurgled and choked.

Titan fell backward onto the middle of the platform with a resounding crash.

It was over.

D’arshan stumbled off the slowly dissipating god corpse. He left his weapons behind to be gathered later. Instead he hurriedly ripped off his pauldrons and gauntlets and bracers. They were basically smelted slag now. They clattered onto the stone platform. Out of the corner of his eyes, he thought he saw observers who then disappeared. He didn’t fucking care. Hope they enjoyed the show.

The miqo’te sank down to his knees. He wrapped his arms around his barely healed ribs. They creaked and hurt whenever he tried to take a deep breath. So they were still probably cracked to hell and back. Cool, cool, cool. This is fine. His tail swished in the dust behind him. Slowly he slumped forward to press his forehead to the platform. He felt his ears press back flat against his aching head. He struggled to breathe through the pain. His shoulders heaved with the effort.

Struggling to his feet, he gathered the last remnants of his aether. He thought of Costa del Sol. And D'arshan teleported away.

* * *

Reporting to Wheiskaet was a blur for D’arshan. He stoically endured the Roe’s congratulations and left the resort despite all protests for him to stay and rest. Somehow he found the strength to cross the river into Raincatcher Gully. His feet dragged up the pier’s steps. He paused for breath. He held onto a wood beam of the overhang. The clerk at the desk stared in horror.

Ahead of him was the shinobi’s storehouse hideout. Safety was just a few more fulms away. Gods be praised. D’arshan stumbled to a halt before Byakubu. “Hey.” He raised a hand in greeting.

And then D’arshan collapsed.

* * *

Oboro sprinted with Tsubame on his heels. His arms were wrapped around the thighs of the man slung over his shoulder. The shinobi zoomed past chocobo caravans and merchants. He ignored the startled shouts of the Yellowjackets guarding the gate. He was headed straight for the Rogues Guild, the only familiar place he knew in Limsa proper. Tsubame barely paused to relay the situation to them before hurrying away. A Yellowjacket bellowed for his captain.

Captain Mailala herself delivered the news of D’arshan return to Admiral Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn. The Sea Wolf woman burst into the Rogues Guild with a number of Maelstrom conjurers to aid Solkwyb just a few minutes after the Marauders Guild conjurer arrived. The usually gruff Roe gently helped a shell shocked Jacke to his feet and out of the way. Mailala fretted by the rogue’s knees. All sense of rivalry was thrown to the wayside due to the dire situation.

D’arshan screamed for Jacke, barely awake and in agony as his ribs were forced back into place again. Jacke shoved past the bemused admiral without apology. He fell to his knees and grabbed the flailing hand of his best rogue. He felt the bones in his hand creak as the miqo’te squeezed it. Solkwyb bellowed for sleeper potion and a syringe. A tiny prick of the needle beneath skin and the potion was injected without preamble.

The hand in Jacke’s hold fell limp as the potion took hold. The guildmaster kissed the other man’s knuckles. But his hand was so cold in his. The healers continued to work around him. And Jacke found himself praying to Nophica for healing and deliverance.

In the miqo’te Scion’s pocket, his linkpearl buzzed and buzzed.

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs and kisses! Bye-bye!  
(=ﾟωﾟ)ノ


	14. Interlude 12: Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pray return to the Waking Sands...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended Theme Song: 
> 
> Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) by Nancy Sinatra

* * *

** Bang **

* * *

Y’shtola left, intent on research. She was sure D’arshan was in still Limsa. She had told Minfilia that he had still been upright after defeating Titan. Mayhap he was hanging around the city across the sea for an errand. He liked to do that.

The last sight of her that Minfilia saw was the swish of her tail and her straight back. The Antecedent hummed. She turned on her linkpearl to contact D’arshan. Noraxia hovered by her shoulder, the little sylph eager to hear from their favorite walking one too.

But it was never answered. Minfilia felt her heart fill with dread. She called again. And again. Her sylph companion fluttered about, wringing their tiny hands.

And then gunshots rang out beyond the solar door.

* * *

_Bang, bang. He shot me down._

Portals of darkness spun into the existence in the hall downstairs.

_Bang, bang. I hit the ground._

Garlean soldiers poured out of the swirling gateways, led by a wicked woman in white armor. A few went upstairs for the tiny target above for capture.

_Bang, bang. That awful sound._

Rifles rose up and fired.

* * *

Scions fell like dominoes. Some went down swinging.

A’aba Tia twisted one Garlean’s head right around with a savage crack. But his body jerked as bullets slammed against his back. He fell, blood pooling beneath his body. Aulie forced Arenvald to run. A bayonet found its way through her spine. More blood splattered across the walls as the weapon mender and the merchant were riddled with Garlean lead. The amnesic mage and her group fought and lost. She slumped down, eyes blank. All around her were the corpses of her friends.

Papalymo burned several soldiers alive with umbral fire. His little teeth clenched as he summoned up more of his aether. A wall of ice rose. He hurriedly shoved a couple Scions onward to the escape door. The ice shattered. The butt of a rifle knocked him out just as he was turning to face the threat. He was picked up by the back of his robes and slung over a shoulder.

Urianger desperately summoned a barrier. His hands shook as he stood in front of the backdoor beyond the shelves that Arenvald had run through. Only a few more Scions managed to escape thanks to the barrier and Papalymo’s last minute save. Bullets pinged and bounced against it. But cracks began to appear. With a swing of his hand and a flare of Ruin, the elezen scholar knocked down the shelves to block the escape door.

Slowly Urianger sank to his knees as his barrier broke. He held up his hands in surrender. He was cuffed and towed away. His heels dragged through the pooling blood. Behind his goggles, the elezen closed his golden eyes in sorrow.

_Forgive me. Forgive me._

* * *

Noraxia fell to the floor, the burn of the bullet in their belly agonizing. Minfilia screamed and begged for mercy for her people. The Garlean woman in white scoffed. She ordered her soldiers to leave. They had what they wanted. The Garleans left back through the summoned portals. A mage in black closed the portals with a wave of their clawed gloves. Familiar lips smirked and the Ascian disappeared.

The sylph held on to their life. Surely the walking one would come. He had to come. They had a message for him.

Hurry…

* * *

A week later, D’arshan Tia woke up. His senses blared klaxon warnings. Heaving himself up, he realized he was in the Rogues Guild. A weight was clinging to his hand. Asleep with his head pillowed in the crook of his arm was Jacke. The weight was the guildmaster’s hand clutching his own.

But D’arshan didn't have time to consider the implications. Something was wrong. He shook Jacke awake. They fought about the miqo’te staying in bed. The younger man won, citing his gut feeling. It was with reluctance and a good luck that the master rogue let him go. A whistle for a bird mount was shoved into his hands by V’kebbe on loan. All the better to fly to Vesper Bay. He was in a rush, wasn’t he? No time for a boat ride.

Something was wrong.

* * *

**END INTERLUDE**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the bodies hit the floor?
> 
> *ducks under a thrown tomato*


	15. Sanctuary is Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Gore, the aftermath of violence at the massacre in the Waking Sands. If you wish to skip it, it starts at the words "Bullet holes" and it ends before the sentence that starts with "D'arshan awoke".
> 
> Arriving at Vesper Bay, D'arshan is confronted with the absolute worst case scenario straight from a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back in D'arshan land~! Enjoy the pain!
> 
> Love y'all!

* * *

“Father, is he out there again?”

“Aye, Marques.” Father Iliud sighed, turning to the becloaked amnesiac by his side. “Though I worry that he will catch illness if he stays out in the deluge. The sudden rains of these scrublands are not to be trifled with.”

Beyond the windows of the church, D’arshan knelt before a set of graves. Graves that he had dug himself, filled with coffins he had hewn with his own two hands, marked with gravestones carved with his own tools. All as penance for his perceived failure. Slowly the miqo’te stood up, his tail limp and soaking wet. He softly touched A’aba’s gravestone. “Forgive me,” D’arshan begged. “Forgive me, everyone.” And then he ran.

D’arshan stopped in the middle of the flat scrublands of Drybone, the rare rains pounding against him. But he was not wearing armor or leathers. A sleeveless tunic and slops tucked into worn boots were his only protection against the chilly night rains. Yet in his grief, he felt not the cold nor the water. He dropped to his hands and toes.

One. Two. Three. Push-ups and squats were his only outlets for his feral energy. He dared not hunt. D’arshan knew he would ruin the hide and meat due to the state he was in currently.

Above his head, thunder rumbled as the rain continued to pour down. Dry riverbeds filled beyond where he was punishing himself. After bells, D’arshan finally collapsed into the sandy mud. He curled up, uncaring of the mud tangling his tail fur and coating his skin and clothes. He cried instead.

D’arshan howled his sorrow with the thunder…

* * *

**Six Days Earlier**

Fear clogging his throat, D’arshan shoved his way through the crowds. Curses were verbally flung at him only to land on deaf ears. Panic made him pant as he ran. The miqo’te skidded to a halt at the crowd outside of the Waking Sands. His ears swiveled forward, their tips quivering. His tail froze with the fur standing on end. Oh no… What was this? What…?

“It’s been a week!”

“No one’s gone in or out…”

“I still remember the screams.”

“A whole week… we should just have the Brass Blades go in!”

“Hey… pst, hey!” A stranger spotted D’arshan and tugged on his sleeve. “Hey, lad. Ya work there, don’t ya?” She pointed at the Waking Sands. “I’ve seen ya pop in and out afore. Though it’s been awhile, eh? Have ya heard?” D’arshan, rendered mute with his fear, shook his head. “We be thinkin’ there was an attack but ain’t no one saw anyone go in and we ain’t seen anyone leave since. Ya best go in, lad. Smells like trouble.” She pushed him forward. “GET OUTTA THE WAY, YA NOSY SADSACKS!” The old woman bellowed. The crowd parted like the sea before them.

D’arshan did not feel like Moses though. He felt like he was approaching the gallows instead. Whispers exploded all around him and the old hyuran woman pushing him onward. He let her until he was up the stairs to the front door. His pale green eyes were wide as he looked at her. But she only had pity on her face and she shook her head. Instead she turned around. She began to shoo off the crowd. Nausea rose in his throat. D’arshan braced himself and opened the door.

With an ominous creak, the door swung open. And he stepped into the dimness.

Oh gods no. Hurriedly, he shut the door behind him. D’arshan stared at the papers strewn about, the tipped over chairs, and the broken desk. The sputtering aether lamps that were in need of a charge… Tataru’s reception area had been wrecked thoroughly. His breathing sped up. He stumbled to the stairs that led down to the main areas of the headquarters. But the miqo’te stopped in the middle, hand touching the wall.

Bullet holes…

Alarm bells shrieked in his head. D’arshan nearly fell down the rest of the stairs, slamming against the door below. His hands scrambled for the handle. He slammed the door open and fell to his knees gagging. He clawed at his face. The miqo’te gasped. The scent of death and decay was overwhelming for his sensitive nose. And then he looked up to see something straight out of a horror film from his previous life.

Blood was splattered all over the bullet ridden walls. Puddles were drying on the floor still, so deep were they. Scattered around were the bodies of fellow Scions just beginning to bloat. Flies buzzed in the air. Guards, messengers, researchers from Baldesion… so many dead. D’arshan sobbed. He stumbled to his feet, forearms pressed to his nose. He called out names.

Thancred! A’aba! Aulie! Arenvald! Urianger! Papalymo! Minfilia! MINFILIA!

But there was no answer.

D’arshan managed to open the door that led to the main room where everyone once gathered. He screamed as he stumbled over A’aba’s body. He fell to his knees. Clutching at his friend’s crimson stained shirt, he wept whilst rocking back and forth. Congealing blood seeped into the knees of his breeches above his boots. The older Tia had been a friend, a guide, a role model. And now he was gone. Who else had fallen? Who else?!

In a daze, D’arshan stood up. He stepped further in. And there was Aulie face down in her own puddle of crimson. He bent down and skimmed his fingers over her shoulder. But the elezen did not stir, did not take a single breath. He began to cry harder. D’arshan stumbled and leaned against a table still standing. He stared at the blood on his hands. And then he began to notice the dead imperials mixed in with the bodies of Scions. A deep growl rumbled and grew in the miqo’s chest. His slit pupils narrowed to thin lines.

How dare they? HOW DARE THEY COME HERE!

D’arshan roared, flinging a chair at the toppled shelves by Urianger’s abandoned work station. And then an Echo vision hit him. The screams of the dying rang in his ears. The distinct metallic popping of guns being fired. The taste of gunpowder and smoke in his mouth. Papalymo knocked out and lifted like a ragdoll. Urianger surrendered on his knees, being towed away, heels dragging through the pools of blood. When D’arshan came to from the vision, he bent over and vomited. He wailed, imagining the horrors his friends were sure to be subjected to in imperial hands. Staggering, he left the main area. It would be forever stained by blood and memories.

The solar… gods, the solar and Minfilia! D’arshan prayed as he pressed against the solar door. He was shaking, he vaguely noted. The guard who used to stand by the solar door was slumped against the wall by it. Her body was riddled with bullet holes. There was a streak of browning red on the wall from where she had slid down against it left behind. Her name was Vadelana; D’arshan remembered her. He whispered her name in horror as he opened the door. His boots, caked in blood, hit pristine stone. But the solar was empty.

Or was it?

“Walking one…”

Gasping, the miqo’te hurried over to the square of sunlight coming from the basement window above behind Minfilia’s desk. He had followed a streak of green to it. He fell to his knees. Noraxia! Praise the Twelve! “Noraxia, no!” But green tinted blood was slowly leaking from the little slyph’s chest. His bloodied hands hovered over his tiny friend. “You survived this whole time…” D’arshan grimaced, tears falling and splashing onto the sylph. They blinked up at him.

“…a message… for Walking One…” Noraxia reached up their tiny hand. It seemed even smaller when the miqo’te held it so carefully between his own. “…look… dearest friend…. Look….”

And somehow on cue, another Echo vision overtook D’arshan. Minfilia hurriedly telling Noraxia what instructions to give to him on where to seek refuge. The sylph hiding as the solar door burst open. The Antecedent surrendering, pleading for mercy for the Scions. An armored hand hitting her and mercy denied. Noraxia flying out to protect Minfilia only to get a bullet to the torso. And a she-devil in imperial white armor.

D’arshan awoke just as Noraxia took their last breath, final mission fulfilled. Choking and weeping, he gathered their body in his arms. He curled around the small corpse of his littlest friend and ally. The miqo’te howled his rage. The windows above rattled. Beyond the open door of the solar, there was only the buzzing of the corpse flies. His aether darkened as he clung to Noraxia. That woman in white armor did this! She did this! SHE DID THIS! The miqo’s ears were pinned back, teeth and short fangs bared. Savages, the imperials called them. Oh, he would show them! He would show them just how savage he could be. He was going to tear them apart, limb from limb.

An unholy light gleamed in pale, almost white, green eyes. An oath of vengeance was sworn. There would be blood for blood.

* * *

A cart for the dead was summoned, the old woman from before having helped D’arshan find the funerary transport to Camp Drybone and the lichyard. And though his hands and knees were stained with blood, he helped move the bodies. One by one the miqo’te carefully wrapped them in linen sheets. One by one he loaded them in solemn silence. The people of Vesper Bay skittered away from the gruesome tasked being performed. Whispers and hearsay was bandied back and forth between the residents and visitors alike.

But still D’arshan worked. Only the old woman, a highlander named Alvera, aided him as best she could. It was she who helped him wrap the bodies. It was she who coaxed him into a bath and clean worn clothes. And it was Alvera who waved him good-bye as he followed after the funerary cart on his chocobo.

Bowed over his chocobo’s neck, the miqo’te slowly plodded along with the cart. Once again he would be delivering his dead comrades to their final resting places. And unlike with Brynja, there wasn’t a survivor among them. They had been taken by the imperials. Urianger. Papalymo. Tataru. Minfilia. Biggs and Wedge. And he didn’t know where the others unaccounted for were at. Where was Arenvald? Where were Yda and Y’shtola? Thancred? The possibilities were unpleasant.

It took a whole day of riding to make it to Camp Drybone. As the sun was setting, D’arshan helped to unload the bodies at the lichyard. Priests and priestesses came to aid him. For them it was routine. With each unloaded Scion, he whispered their name to the priest or priestess to be written down and remembered.

And the next day, D’arshan took up his axe and went to the South Shroud to harvest wood for the coffins. Aveza, his chocobo, gamely pulled along a cart for him. He split the logs. He carved them into planks. He fitted them together, the pieces shaped in such a way to not require nails. The blue-haired miqo’te then silently hauled them back. The Wood Wailers patrolling the border recognized the shape of the boxes in his cart and let him pass. They bowed with hands over their hearts, whispering a prayer to the Matron.

Father Iliud oversaw the placing of the embalmed into each coffin. His few fellow priests and priestesses prayed over the bodies. Meanwhile D’arshan went to the hills to mine for stone for the grave markers. Once again Aveza pulled the cart, warking at the weight. But still she pulled it along at her master’s behest. The one called Marques helped find for D’arshan tools to chisel in the names of the dead onto each gravestone. In silence did D’arshan carve and place the gravestones.

Save for one.

“I fear we cannot bury your sylph friend here,” the priestess said. “They must be returned to their people so that they may be buried in the custom of their home.”

“I see. Thank you, sister.” D’arshan gently picked up the little coffin containing Noraxia. “I’ll just... take them home.” He heaved it onto his shoulder. “Aveza, come.” The chocobo chirped and followed after him. The priestess bowed in farewell to his turned back. “One more trip to the Shroud.” He would go hunting for imperial hide soon enough once his duty to the dead was done.

* * *

Getting down to his knees, D’arshan set the little coffin down. He kept his head bowed to Elder Frixio as he told them what happened. Several slyphs screamed and wailed, railing against the imperials. They demanded revenge. But the elder only floated down. Their small hands lifted his face. Their wise eyes stared at the miqo’te for a long moment.

“Dear Walking One, sylph-friend and our greatest ally. Thank you for returning our beloved Noraxia.” Frixio wiped his tears. “From the forest are we born and to the forest are we returned. We see your love and care for them.” The elder kissed D’arshan on the forehead, the touch like a butterfly’s wings. “Be not guilty. Be as Lord Ramuh’s lightning and strike down the metal ones who have performed this injustice.”

“I swear,” D’arshan croaked. “I swear I shall.”

“Then go. Find the metal one in white. Only then will Noraxia know justice.”

D’arshan stood up and bowed to the elder. “By your will,” he intoned. A fire burned in his gaze. “I won’t rest until she’s dead.”

* * *

**Present Day**

Getting the news that there have been no sightings or any new information had driven D’arshan out of the church to the graves of the fallen Scions and then to the rainy scrublands of Drybone. The miqo’te was still curled up. He stared up at the raining skies. It was hard to see the black clouds above through the water hitting his eyes and leaking out of them. His ears flicked against the mud. The roar of the deluge muffled all other sound except for the occasion roll of thunder.

And then someone approached him. It was Marques in his hood and robe.

The amnesiac got down to one knee. Slowly his hands reached out, cautious about having his touch rejected. But D’arshan only stared at him. So the other man wiped a streak of mud from his upturned cheek. Still the miqo’te didn’t react. Marques sighed, an edge of sorrow to his downturned lips. He bent over to heave D’arshan over his shoulder. He barely grunted from the weight. And like a sack of popotoes, D’arshan hung there as the older man stood up. His tail was a muddy mess as was his hair, ears and clothes. Only the half that had been facing the sky was mud free. Marques pressed his forearm to the back of his thighs. He carried the miqo’te to the church.

The church doors opened with a bang, making a priest jump. But Father Iliud was unmoved. He walked down the aisle between the pews to Marques. He led him to a side room to set D’arshan down with a wet plop on the floor. “Oh, my son, what grief has done to you…” Father Iliud opened a drawer and pulled out a cloth. He knelt down to wipe the miqo’te’s face.

“I hate them…” D’arshan croaked out in the silence. The cloth passed over his cheek again, leaving behind clean skin.

“I know, I know.”

“I’m going to kill them.”

Father Iliud paused. “That will not bring them back, my son,” he said slowly. He glanced at the clearly uncomfortable Marques, nodding toward the door. The hooded man took the hint and fled. “Slaughter for slaughter will solve nothing.”

D’arshan’s lips trembled and his eyes watered. “My friends… they murdered my friends.” He fell forward, forehead pressing against the priest’s shoulder. “Where is the justice, father? Who will dole it? The gods? Don’t make me laugh!” He scoffed, lip lifting to expose his short fang. “I will take my justice, right out of their hides.”

“I understand,” Father Iliud sighed. He knew there was no way to stop the warrior before him, huddled against him like a lost kit. His free hand rose to stroke the back of the young man’s head. Short blue hair coated in mud pressed against his palm. “I understand. But first we must know more before you start your hunt.”

“Yes, father.”

* * *

Newly dressed in dry pants and a tanktop, D’arshan took a steadying breath. He walked over to Marques when he waved him over. “Hey, man. Thanks for getting me out of the rain,” he said, his now clean tail flicking. He crossed his arms, bare biceps flexing with the movement.

Marques glanced at the other man’s bared arms, knowing they weren’t for show. Though the miqo’te had been vulnerable in his mourning, he still had great strength. Perhaps he could... “You’re welcome,” the goggle-wearing amnesiac replied, bearded face faintly smiling at him. But the smile fell. “Though I felt like… we were being watched.” His voice was low, the words slowly spoken from tight lips.

“Watched?” The miqo’te flicked his ears forward. Gods, he really had been out of it if he hadn’t sensed such a thing. “Did it feel ill-intentioned?” he asked, scooting closer to Marques. “Like weapons were about to be drawn?”

“I don’t… know.” Marques bent forward to whisper to him. “We’re being watched now.”

D’arshan tensed, though he didn’t look away from his companion. “From where?” he hissed, ears slowly turning in a casual manner. Best not to give up the pretense of his obliviousness. Because now that he was more awake and aware, he felt it but could not pinpoint it. The tip of his tail twitched.

“From the window behind me, eyes on us.” The silver-haired Marques’ darted his eyes to the side. “Could you…?”

“Aye, Marques! I’ll fetch you some alumen,” D’arshan replied in a louder voice, making his new friend blink. “Your leathers will be improved in no time, I promise.” He raised his pale blue eyebrows. ‘I’ll find your watcher.’

“Wonderful! Thank you, friend!” Marques, though his memory was missing, was more than sharp enough. “Try not to get stuck in the rain again.” He nodded. ‘Don’t break down.’

“I’ll be back.” D’arshan activated his armiger to summon up his pick and sledgehammer. He clomped in his heavy boots out of the church. But as he turned to corner outside and out of sight, the miqo’te exchanged his pick and hammer for his stabbers and ninja soulstone. He wrapped himself in aether and shadow. From normal sight, D’arshan disappeared. On silent feet, he rounded the church to find a stranger hunkered down by one of the building’s windows dressed like an average Eorzean.

Too average. How suspicious.

D’arshan, however, wasn’t feeling generous or merciful. He had lost too many people too recently to leave things to chance. He snuck up on the stranger, eyes flicking to their sword. But they never realized he was there. Raising his blades, he came up from behind. With a twist of his wrist and a flick of his sharp dagger, D’arshan slit the watcher’s throat. His aether and shadow cloak fell as he did the deed. They fell to the ground without making a single sound. The miqo’te sheathed his daggers. His booted foot rolled the stranger over. But his pale gaze didn’t shine with any recognition. A true stranger then, a spy.

Squatting down, D’arshan eyed the dead man. But no clues were… He looked at the sword again. There was something familiar about it. Something that was pissing him off. His eyes narrowed and he plucked up the sword. He spun on his heel and left the dead spy behind. The body would be buried later.

“D’arshan!” Marques cried when the miqo’te jogged into the church. Next to him was Father Iliud but no one else was inside. On purpose perhaps? “Did you find…?”

“A spy, yes. Dead now.” D’arshan handed him the sword. “Look familiar?”

“I…no, my friend.” Marques shook his head. “Though I fear that I’m being watched because of my past. But I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything except how to fix things.” He looked down at his hands. Scars most likely from a forgotten lifetime of mechanical work and repair. But nothing sprung up, not a single memory flashed across his mind. The bearded man looked at him. “So why would anyone follow me?”

“It is Garlean steel,” Father Iliud interjected. Worry and fear creased his face. “And now they are stalking here. D’arshan, we must alert the authorities-“

“The same ones who didn’t come to the Waking Sands to give aid? I think not,” D’arshan growled. “Useless Monerarist puppets…”

“Wait!” The church doors banged open and a young elezen with long white hair strode in with confidence bordering on arrogance. “I know why he is being followed! He is Master Engineer Cid Garlond!”

“YOU!” D’arshan snarled, stalking toward the boy. “You little shit!” The boy reeled back but the miqo’s hands were like lightning and snatched his lapels. The way his face twisted showed his fangs and his rage. His biceps and forearms flexed. The elezen squeaked as he was lifted into the air. His hands scrabbled at the older man’s wrists to no avail. His toes hovered over the floorboards. He kicked out but the muscled thigh he hit was unyielding. “Where were you?!” D’arshan cried. He gave him a shake. The teen cried out in fear. “Where were you when I carried everyone out of the Waking Sands? Where were you when I buried our comrades? When I carved their names and wept over their bones?!”

“Stop, my son! Stop!” Father Iliud grabbed the blue-haired miqo’te by a forearm. “Put him down, D’arshan. Please, he is but a boy. Put him down.”

With a thump, the elezen fell to the floor. He coughed. His frightened blue eyes watched as the only other Scion present was pulled away by the priest. How the miqo’te was pulled into a comforting embrace. How those broad shoulders bowed and shook in his grief. “I see that I… have bad timing,” he wheezed.

“No kidding, lad,” Marques said gruffly. He reached down to pull him to his feet. “Things have been not good lately. You a Scion?”

“I… er aye, I am part of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. I am Alphinaud Leveilleur.”

“Well, Alphinaud of the Scions, come here and tell me what you know about me. I don’t remember you see…” Marques led him away to the side room of the church.

* * *

“I’m not going to apologize,” D’arshan said, sitting down in the pew next to the elezen he had been ten seconds away from killing just the evening beforehand. He was dressed in his leathers and armor, the dark colors indicating to those in the know of his ninja status. “But I didn’t actually mean to hurt you.”

“Minfilia never said anything about your temper, that is for certain,” Alphinaud replied, nervously eyeing him in the grey dawn light streaming in from the church windows. “And I’m not hurt.”

“Good.”

“We do, however, have a problem.”

“What else is new?” D’arshan drawled. He crossed his arms and leaned back into the pew. He stared at the pulpit at the front of the church with unseeing eyes. “We’re at the bottom of the shitter hole and other people just keep digging the hole deeper. But go on, I guess.”

“Charming. But very well. The Ixal have summoned Garuda again.”

Freezing for a quick second, D’arshan jerked his head to stare at the elezen next to him. His blue furred ears swiveled forward so fast they could have flown off. “What. The. Fuck?” he said, gaping.

“Exactly so,” Alphinaud replied with a sigh. “That is why I was searching for Cid. We need an airship to get to her but he will be the only one with a single clue on how to find the Enterprise and how to fly it. It would be the only airship capable of surviving her winds. And with the Scions being just us two, we are in for a terrible time, I suspect.” He put his fist in front of his mouth as he thought. “Though I’m not quite sure where to start searching considering the state of Cid’s memory at this time.”

“Most likely at Fallgourd Float where there had been reported sightings from five years ago,” Father Iliud said as he came up to them. He sat next to D’arshan. The older man sighed. “Cid is changing now. I had been holding on to his belongings until it was time. And now your course is set, my children.”

“Father…”

“Hush, my son.” The priest griped D’arshan’s shoulder. “You could not stay here forever. The idleness was allowing you to wallow in your grief. But listen to me. You are always welcome here, no matter what. And when you have slain Garuda, I pray you will get information on where to find your captured friends. Let not your rage consume you, my child, for that way lay damnation and sorrow.”

“I would have justice for my friends.” D’arshan stared at the priest with his bright pale eyes. “If I cannot have vengeance, then I would have justice.” Next to him, Alphinaud gulped.

“What is justice but vengeance with purpose… very well. Do as you must for your peace of mind and for the souls of your departed comrades.” Father Iliud pulled the miqo’te into one last embrace. He smiled sadly when he felt hands grip tight at the back of his robes. “Go with my blessing and protect the realm as you have sworn to do.” The priest pulled back and cupped sun-kissed cheeks. He pressed his forehead to the miqo’s in a distinct sign of affection. “I shall keep you all in my prayers.”

“Thank you, Father, for everything.” Standing and letting the hands holding his face fall away, D’arshan helped Alphinaud to his feet. “Come on, kiddo. We’ve got an airship to find and a goddess to kill.” He clapped the boy on the back who rocked with the motion, grimacing. D’arshan shooed him out of the pew. Father Iliud let them pass before standing himself. He clasped his hands together as the three men that were three different ages stand together with one common purpose. A purpose young D’arshan had sorely needed. “Yo, Cid, Marques, whatever, you ready?”

“Ah, right…” Cid held up a hand in greeting. He was no longer wearing his robe and hood but instead a unique crafter’s uniform in black and white. The goggles shone on his forehead, the lens glinting. “Aye, ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Right then, let us make way to Fallgourd,” Alphinaud said. Though he had been intent on leading, the young elezen was careful not to step on D’arshan’s toes again. He was supposed to be the diplomatic one, after all. “I trust you know the way?”

D’arshan nodded. “We’ll head up the South Shroud, of course, from Highbridge. Then Bentbranch and up the bridge to the upper parts of the Central Shroud.” He pursed his lips. “We’ll skip Gridania for now. Best not to draw too much attention. We’re being hunted as evidenced by our little Garlean spy.” His ears flicked, eyes narrowing. “I won’t put my mother in danger by arriving on her doorstep in Old Gridania. We need to keep quiet until Fallgourd.”

“A wise choice.” Alphinaud nodded, his braid swaying. “Shall we?”

“Good-bye, Father Iliud,” Cid said, bowing to the priest. “Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome. It has been my honor and pleasure.” Father Iliud bowed to the trio. “Safe journeys, my sons. Be careful and stray not from your path. Gods keep you and saints watch over you.”

“Thank you, Father,” D’arshan bowed and then turned on his heel. “Alright, lads. With me. Let’s mosey.” As they left the church and the lichyard, he glanced one last time at the Scions’ graves. “For you… I will get justice. For all of you,” he whispered. His eyes turned to the north and the trees of Wellwick.

The sun rose higher into the sky, the dawn of a new day and a new path.

* * *

**The End of Stranded in a Strange World**

**To be continued in Series Part Two: Edge of the Sword**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued in Part Two of D'arshan Tia: Confused and Doing His Best, Edge of the Sword. Until next time! 
> 
> Tap that kudos and/or leave a comment if you like! Thank you for making it this far!

**Author's Note:**

> 000
> 
> Toss a kudos my way if you like. Until next time, bye babes!


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